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targaryenrealnessdarling · 7 months

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A Perfect Score - Chapter 10 - A Song of Ice and Fire | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: The moment has arrived for you and Aemond to prove yourselves against the Martells. You can only hope you've done enough to earn your place | Word Count: 7.7k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: teasing, hair pulling, mile high club (oop), voyeurism, degradation, daddy kink, oral (m receiving), ass slapping, orgasm denial, threatening behaviour, mentions of a broken family, mentions of chronic pain, blood, slight angst, injury in relation to chronic condition, trigeminal neuralgia, hospitals

A/N: I can't believe this is the LAST CHAPTER FUCK 😭😭😭 i love these two sm, would die for them 🥰 I really hope you guys enjoyed this series, it was so fun to write! If you're lucky there might even be an Epilogue 😉

Sunspear.

That’s where the finals would be.

Cocky fuckers. Thinking that they had the win, by having it on Martell turf.

At this point, the prospect of winning was low on the priority list. The top spot had been somewhat taken over, by carrying out the plan you had in store, which Aemond was increasingly becoming more and more suspicious of.

You and Helaena would play dumb whenever he walked past her room, hiding whatever you were doing. As much as Helaena prefaced that what you had planned was a terrible idea, she’d grinned and told you to do it anyway.

She’d even given her opinion when you modelled it.

“Perfect” she said with a proud smile, leaning back in her chair.

You’d packed the suitcase well enough that Aemond wouldn’t see it even if he opened it by accident.

When it was time to load up the car for the flight to Sunspear, staying in a hotel overnight before the finals tomorrow, there was a finality to it that widened the pit in your chest. Helaena had barely had you out of her arms, intent on hugging every last bit out of you so that she could savour the feeling.

“We’ll all be watching the match tomorrow” she smiled, “try not to get into too much trouble before then”

As much as you’re happy that she and her family will be there, as your manager, he will too.

Aemond had pre-warned you about that.

But to be honest, you were expecting it.

“You know me, can’t keep out of it it seems” you smile back at her, hand slipping out of hers as you move onto Alicent, who stands straight, pink lips pressed together, like one touch and she’ll just crumble into tears.

Alicent nods, picking at the top of her turtleneck, “It was so nice to have you here, sweet girl. You are welcome back whenever you like” she manages, her voice wavering with emotion.

Smiling gratefully, nothing else need be said when Alicent opens her arms to pull you into a hug, as if you were her own. She smells like expensive perfume, probably YLS, as you’d often seen the bottle poking out of her bag. At first, when you met, you found the scent overpowering, and somewhat tart. But now, as the perfume enveloped you in a warm, motherly hug, it was entirely comforting. And your heart strained in your chest, knowing that it may be a while before you get to come back.

Your face pulls into a smile as Alicent then moves onto her son, bringing a comically tall Aemond in comparison into a warm embrace. No person is more surprised than you when Aegon walks over, trying to hide how nice he’s being with humour.

“Come in. Bring it in then”

You laugh through your nose, giving him a quick hug.

“Alright, that’s enough”

You shrug, smirking, “Fine, you smell anyway”

“Ouch, I’m so fucking wounded”

You pick up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

“I’ll be watching as well. Can’t wait to see what happens” Aegon winks.

You turn awake, feigning ignorance, “Dunno what you mean”

You fought the urge to tear up as you looked in the mirror, watching the three of them wave you away. With lips pressed together to force a smile to your face, strained with emotion, you spare them a wave back, bidding the large Targaryen House goodbye.

Once past the security gates a deep exhale exits your lungs, and Aemond’s hand wraps around your knee, stealing your attention.

You smile at him, giving a soft nod, “I’m alright”

Aemond laughs through his nose, “You’re acting like you’ll never go back” he chuckles, “I know Mum would be very offended if you didn’t”

Smiling, you know it’s probably true. That they would like you back as often as possible, no matter the outcome of the finals.

Aemond scrolls through his phone, biting the inside of his cheek, “Applications are closing soon” he muses, almost so quietly you don’t hear him unless you’re leaning close.

“For what?”

He clicks his phone off, shoving it into his sweatpants pocket, “For the new academic year” he replied anxiously.

“Philosophy and History right?” you smile, putting your hand on his to calm him, “You’ll love it, Aemond”

“I know, it’s just-” he adds, “I don’t know if I’ll be good at the whole academic side of it. It’s one thing to be interested-”

“You’ll do great because you’re interested in it” you smile, “besides there’ll be plenty of workshops on essay writing and such”

He sighs, like the idea of doing all of that is just so overwhelming right now. Not knowing what to expect, has his whole body tense.

“Finals first. Then I’ll apply” he states, turning to flash you a small, Aemond-smile. One you return with warmth.

“I’ll help you with your Personal Statement”

He laughs, “Then I’ll never get in” he jokes, making you swat his arm playfully.

It was a couple of hours on a plane to Sunspear, and with the assistance of the private jet supplied by Hightower Management, it was a simple process. The car even pulled up right next to it, allowing you both to largely avoid the media who stood behind the chain-link fence, trying to get a word or a photo from the mysterious couple.

You’d barely looked at the news. But every now and then, a notification would inevitably pop up on your phone, about your outburst and subsequent removal from the Targaryen House. Frustration boiled in your veins.

That wasn’t true.

But then again, not a lot they wrote about was true.

It happened so often, each time affected you less and less, and the quicker it was to push that aside.

An ‘unnamed insider’ had also offered their opinion.

‘There was an altercation with the Chairman of Hightower Management, in what I understand was a lapse of morals’.

You had laughed when you read it.

And so did Aemond.

Alys Rivers.

Still trying to dig her claws in, desperate for even a slither of that limelight. Of Aemond’s attention.

She wouldn’t fucking get it. No fucking way.

Aemond had joked that you’d beat her in a fist fight if need be. And you didn’t doubt it. In fact, the mental image somewhat amused you.

You looked up from your phone, the hum of the incessant jet engine vibrated through the seats. Arryk was fast asleep in the front of the jet, slumped back in his seat, with his hands clasped on his chest. His suit, inevitably crumpled with the awkward sleeping position he found himself in.

Aemond was seated next to you, earphones in, leaning back to only appear as if he were dozing.

You bite your lip, looking back down the aisle and then to Aemond.

He cracks open his eye as you stand up from your seat, a suspicious look rakes over you as you pull the jumper you were wearing over your head and huffing it onto the seat.

“Where are you going?” he asks gruffly, to which the only thing you can do is smile, seeing the way his gaze absorbs the image of what you’re wearing stuck tight to your skin.

Knowing he fucking hates it.

Hates it.

You roll your eyes.

“The toilet?” you reply sarcastically.

Gods, you know you’re pushing your luck but you just can’t help it.

You can practically feel the irritation radiating off Aemond. His lips part to say something but you’re gone with a smirk on your face before he can say anything. His harsh, determined gaze bores into the back of your head, burning a bright hole through it. You sway your hips as you walk down the aisle to the bathroom, closing the door, but not locking it.

10 seconds.

That’s how long you give it.

You pretend to wash your hands, looking in the mirror and smoothing your palms over the ponytail that sits semi-loosely at the back of your head.

5, 4, 3…

The door opens quickly and with a click it’s shut again, but this time Aemond slides the lock across. He had to duck to get into the cramped bathroom, and now with two people inside, it feels utterly stifling.

You have to bite back a smile that you’d guessed him so spot on. It hadn’t even been ten seconds. And here he stood, putting on a stoic, blank face, as if he had no intention of doing anything at all.

Your lips part to speak, but your throat is instead met with pressure, his palm flush to it and his fingers around the sides as he pushes you further into the bathroom.

“You want to get fucked?” he suggests in a dark, husky voice, the muscles in his arm tensing and untensing as his control begins to wane, “Hm?”

You can see the way he expects you to respond, but as his fingers press on the sides of your neck, it only serves to make your mind swirl with want, seeing how frustrated he is. Nothing seems to want to come out of your mouth, shock pleasantly blocking your throat.

“Think I didn’t see that? The way you rolled your eyes? Acting like a little slut?”

You swallow under his hand, his words sending a bolt of arousal straight between your legs, throbbing with desire. The way your cheeks burn makes it clear to him what you really want, coupled with the tremble that has now managed to worm its way up your legs.

In a smooth moment, your thighs hit the counter in front of the mirror, his arm now reaching widely around you to hold your head up to see his expression in the mirror. You shiver at the sensation of his hair on your skin, his nose dragging up the side of your neck, his breath eventually hot on the shell of your ear.

“You just want it, don’t you?” he grunts, pressing his now noticeable erection against your backside, his hips moving torturously slow, as if to make you wait, to tease you.

Pride rings in your body at the way he’s just so easily fallen apart the way you predicted.

“No” you tease, biting back a smile which he sees in the mirror.

His mouth drawn tightly into a line, not revealing at all what he’s thinking.

Aemond’s large hands go to your leggings, tearing them down harshly like he can’t get a good grip on them. The speed, the sheer neediness of the gesture, has arousal pooling where you need him most and your skin prickling with desire.

“We’ll see about that”

You have to spread your hands on the counter to keep yourself up as Aemond tugs your leggings down just enough and bends you over, exposing you just enough that the cool air against your core makes you shiver.

“No” he gruffs, wrapping your hair around his knuckles and tugging back to make you look in the mirror at him, “You’re going to watch”

You barely have time to think about his threat before you feel the fat head of his cock kiss your folds, pushing forward, Aemond moans breathily as he looks down to watch you take the entirety of him, squeezing his length tightly.

It feels like the air is being constantly pushed from your lungs, he doesn’t even give a moment of reprieve, one hand tugging your hair and the other kneading the fleshy globe of your ass to spread you open for him to see. His cock pistons so quickly and with such a lewd sound that for a moment, it makes you embarrassed that Arryk might actually hear from the front of the plane.

“Keep your eyes open, princess” she breathes, leaning over your neck and giving a harsh tug to remind you. You whimper as his teeth graze over your skin, combined with the way he bullies that sensitive spot inside you in this position, it all feels very too much.

“Just my little fucktoy aren’t you, hm?” he grunts against your ear. And without even thinking you nod quickly, not trusting yourself to speak, your eyes dragging down to watch the ceaseless rocking of his hips slapping against you.

He delivers a hard slap to your ass, “Say it”.

“ - yes, I am - I am -”

Aemond groans, burying himself as deep as he can inside you with each devastating thrust, “Yeah, that’s right -”

You gasp loudly, eyes slipping shut as his hand makes his way to your front, his thumb drawing harsh circles against your clit. It’s more pressure than you anticipated to such a sensitive area, and it has your body pushing back to meet his, desperate.

“ - fuck, Aemond -”

“ - not my name, princess-”

Just when you’re about to lose it, he ceases his movements to your clit and slows his pace dramatically and he chuckles darkly when you whine with annoyance.

“If you want to cum, I want to hear it-”

You can’t help but feel irritated. You are so, so close. It’s unfair.

“Come on, you can do it, baby-”

With a strained, annoyed tone, “-fuck, daddy please - I’m so close-”

You feel him grin against your neck, “better”

Nothing feels more overwhelming than when he picks up the pace again, blood feeling as if it’s on fire as it hums around your body, right to your little bundle of nerves that Aemond hasn’t left alone.

“-that’s it, cum around my cock, princess-”

And you do.

Hard.

So much so that Aemond has to put his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. Especially when his pace never falters, and he fucks you through your orgasm with the same vigour. Aemond moans as your walls flutter around him, squeezing his length tightly.

He pulls out, fisting his length quickly in his fist, a shuddered groan falling from his glorious lips as his warm cum coats your bare pussy. It’s near-pornographic, the way it feels to be covered by him, and even more so when he smears his cum over your slit with the head of his cock.

You smile tiredly, seeing that this little act is something that Aemond enjoys doing often.

Perhaps it's his way of reminding you you're his.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect-” he praises, “-baby you’ve made such a mess- come on, be a good girl-”

You’re near breathless as he pushes you to your knees in front of him, covering your lips with the cum that glazes his cock before plunging into your mouth. You let your jaw relax as Aemond makes the slow, lazy pace, using your mouth to clean the aftermath off his length.

You moan around him, the taste of him salty and heavy on your tongue.

“That’s it - you like me using your mouth, don’t you-”

You make a noise of confirmation as he continues to use you, making his head tip back at the vibrations stimulating his oversensitive cock.

He pulls you off by your hair, looking down at you reverently, using his thumb to swipe whatever was left on your lips back into your mouth.

As your eyes meet, both of you light up in a smile.

"Seven fucking Hells, what am I going to do with you" he smiles lovingly.

The Dornish heat was nothing compared to that little bathroom.

The air was crisp as you exited the plane, a dull, but satisfied ache between your thighs. In fact, Arryk had looked at you both with some level of barely-contained suspicion when you came out the bathroom on the flight, and you’d flushed bright red when he asked if you were alright, and swatted Aemond when he made no attempt to hide his smugness and laughed out loud.

The hotel was lavish, and entirely different in style from the hotels you were used to on the tour. The floors were marble, the walls largely made of stone, with bright and vibrant colours decorating the tall ceilings and walls.

Even people’s fashion was different. Flowy fabrics of silk and light linens, probably due to the intense heat, which was already making it difficult to concentrate.

You gave Aemond a look when the receptionist gave you one key.

As if being in on an inside joke of sorts.

The last time you were forced to share one room, it was a very different circumstance.

The room was spacious and utterly luxurious, but you’d expect nothing less from the Martells.

The bed was enclosed with panels of delicate details surrounding it, along with silks of various vibrancies to lift it. The floor was marble, and a nice cooling sensation in comparison to the stifling air.

And as Aemond snaked his arms around your waist as you looked out onto the balcony at the lavish gardens, leaning down to bite at your neck softly, your eyes slipped shut.

“Aemond the finals are tomorrow, we have to practi-”

“And I intend to” he whispered back, kissing higher and higher on your neck, while one of his hands sank lower and lower, til they were beneath the waistband of your leggings.

“It’s still early, Princess” he mused.

You had both christened the bed that afternoon, and later on, any available flat surface Aemond could find, he would do things that would make even Aegon blush.

Unlike the other hotels, there was only one ice rink in Sunspear, and it would be the one you’d be using tomorrow to compete against the Martells. It was a bit annoying having to book in a spot to go over the routine, and you and Aemond had already practised beyond measure, but it was still nice to get a few more sessions in before the big day.

Surprisingly, you felt okay, and Aemond was the nervous one. Even though realistically, there was little outcome for Aemond, whether you won or not.

You sigh, the cool air of the rink hitting your skin, “At least it’s nice and cool in here”

Huffing your bag onto the floor, you look behind at him when he doesn’t reply.

Aemond, with a stoic expression, only gestured with his head in the direction of the stands.

Larys Strong sits there, his cane in hand.

His head is angled down, so that he’s looking over the bridge of his brow, his darkened eyes flitting between you and Aemond from where he’s seated in the middle of the rows of seats, which tomorrow, would be filled with people.

Immediately, irritation gnaws at your insides. And the only saving grace is Aemond’s careful hand on your arm, grounding you.

You make no effort to go to him.

He will come to you if he wants to speak.

It almost pleases you that it takes him so long to stand and step down to the ice rink, so that it gives you more time to think of what to say. You go to move away to speak to him, but Aemond’s fingers tighten, holding you close to him.

He wanted to stay with you.

“Aemond” Larys greeted first, leaning on his cane as he stopped before you both, smirking as he searched both of your faces.

Aemond didn’t respond.

“What do you want?” you ask, getting swiftly to the point, as you knew he wouldn’t.

Larys bowed his head, as if briefly embarrassed and wondering what to say, his slick wavy brown hair not moving around his shoulders.

“I am here for the finals-”

“That’s not what I asked” you added quickly, “to the point, please”

You didn’t see the barely-contained smirk that Aemond was struggling to keep at bay behind you. It turned out, he rather liked to see you angry.

Larys floundered noticeably.

“You had seen my emails?”

“I had”

Larys raised an eyebrow, “and it was insufficient?”

Biting your lip, you couldn’t hide your contempt, “You expected me to go to the press?”

“I thought that was the plan”

“There was no plan. Nor an exchange of terms between you and I. I sought your help because I thought you had information on my employment, and you did. There is nothing more to say”

He goes quiet for a moment, before lifting his signature smirk to his face.

“I see the Ice Princess has some fire in her”

Aemond’s grip tightens, as if he’s ready to explode at any moment.

“I do hope Floris is alright” he muses, taking a short step forward, “it’d be a shame for such a capable skater to retire so soon into her career”

Your eyebrows furrow.

Was that a fucking threat?

Larys smirks slightly, appearing to have hit the nerve he was after.

"Good luck with the finals"

"Watch it" Aemond responds, keeping a firm grip on your arm. Now because he's afraid you might actually hurt him.

Larys laughs through his nose.

Fuck you.

You and Aemond watch with bated breath as Larys leaves slowly, the clang of the double doors rattling behind him.

Aemond let's out a breath.

"Should I be watching where I put my skates now?" You ask him, half joking. But it earns a breathy laugh nonetheless.

"You say that. Maybe you should"

Practice goes as expected.

The routine is intricate, perhaps the most technical so far, but in a nice way. Working with Aemond now, when everything had been addressed was nice.

Gods it was so nice.

It almost made you sad that he wanted to retire after the finals.

He was so graceful. For such a tall guy, lined with lean muscle, he had such elegance on the ice. Wasn't afraid to show off, which the judges would no doubt love.

The song?

Swan Lake. The Ending Song.

A bold choice of Otto's.

Was that a threat too? Perhaps?

It didn't bother you too much, as you'd found a perfect place within the song to do what you had planned for weeks.

And gods, it'd all be worth it to see his face.

It was all very surreal.

A flurry of texts crowded your screen on the morning of the finals.

Rhaenys.

Baela. Rhaena.

Floris.

El.

Even some of your family.

Estranged family.

You're certain you blocked their number.

You sigh, pulling the towel around yourself and walking out of the open wet room. Aemond is laid flat on his back on the bed, a damp cold cloth applied to the marred eye.

If you didn't know any better, he looked asleep.

"Still bothering you?" You ask.

He just makes a noise of confirmation. His eye not moving.

You rub his arm lovingly as you sit next to him.

His eye had been bothering him all night, so much so that embarrassingly (his words) he'd had to remove the glass eye he wore and slept without it to alleviate the pain.

He'd looked so vulnerable when he showed you.

As if you'd run away when you saw it.

But instead, your heart leapt. You were more lovey than usual after a little drink at the bar with Aemond after practice, and you'd pressed your lips to his scarred cheek. Lingering.

Little did you know, that his heart leapt as well.

And when you slept, moulded in each other's arms.

It felt like it was always meant to be this way.

It changed something.

"Do you want some painkillers?" You ask softly,

"I'm alright, just took some…waiting for them to kick in"

Patting his arm, you give him a reassuring smile, though he can't see it.

Making sure he's not looking, you sneak the outfit out of your suitcase and into your bag for later. Biting your lip, you try hard to contain the excitement in your veins. And nerves as well.

For a lot of things.

Ping!

You laugh through your nose.

Scrolling, you check the other messages you have.

You laugh at that too.

Gods she's such a boomer. It's kind of painful.

You shoot her a quick text back, clearing the texts from your family without replying.

Not like they deserve it anyway.

Everytime you see a text from them now, it only reminds you of why Otto hired you.

Bad circumstances.

Someone of low background.

Ugh fuck him.

Fuck. Him.

With a barge pole if needed.

Aemond huffs as he gets up, squinting and looking over at you, "ready to dance with the vipers?"

"Oh more than ready" you smile at him.

You're thankful you have your own dressing room at least. To get everything right without Aemond's curious eye constantly looking at you.

No time for quickies this time round.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hair all done into a ponytail with curls falling from it. Decorated with glitter hairspray and little pearls. Your outfit is black, as Otto had said it would be in his email. The corset is almost velvet like, with a slight v at the top (which made it difficult to initiate your plan, but you managed). And the mesh skirt over the leotard sways like a cloud over your legs.

You steel yourself.

You can do this.

When you go out to the hallway, looking down to the ice rink, where the stands are entirely full with the echoed chatter of the audience, your skin immediately prickles with nerves.

You feel Aemond's hand on the small of your back, making heat crawl up your neck.

"Feeling okay?" He asks in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

You don't think you'll ever get over the feeling you get when you see him with his sapphire eye.

It literally takes your breath away.

But his scar looks reddened somewhat.

You furrow your brows, "Are you?" You ask, concerned, "your eye. It looks sor-"

"I'm fine" he says quickly.

I don't believe that.

You can see the way he's trying to be brave about it. His jaw tight and his good eye looking anywhere but you, as if he knows he'll be found out.

"Aemond we don't have to. If you're in pain-"

"No. I want to do this for you" he urges.

For you.

You swear for a moment your heart skips a beat, stilling in your chest as the rest of you gets warm.

Aemond can never be forced.

He's stubborn like that.

A Targaryen trait, you muse.

But you know deep down, he won't heed your warning. He's headstrong. Completely sure of his own opinion, rightly or wrongly.

There's something about it now though, which doesn't feel right.

"I'm alright, princess. Promise" he adds, taking one of your hands in his while he takes in your outfit.

"You look nice" he says, forcing a smile to his face. His hand goes over your sleeves to the clips at the top. He plays with them briefly, as if wondering what they are before you playfully slap his hand away.

"Off"

He gives you a look.

A suspicious one.

He knows you're up to something.

Then he smiles.

Again a forced one, but stubbornness will kill him first.

As you both walk towards the ice rink, journalists, media, the judges, the faces of the audience as well as the Martells all serve to wake your nerves.

You wave at Rhaenys in the crowd, Baela and Rhaena seated either side of her.

"There they are, the Ice Prince and Princess. Ready for the finals in their all black get up"

"They appear to be closer this time, speaking in hushed voices- oh! Was that a kiss I saw?"

"It was! Perhaps there is more to this mere partnership than meets the eye"

Aemond whispers to you, "up in the stands, to the right"

When you follow his eyeline, your face drops and you turn to avoid the cameras from getting a good look at your expression.

Otto Hightower sits there.

Alone.

Good.

He's looking down at you both, chin high but his gaze looking over his nose like you're shit at the bottom of his shoe. His hands are clasped in expectancy, clearly desiring a favourable outcome to the performance.

But at least now you know where he is, so you can see the look on his face.

The thought of it has an evil smirk rise to your face.

"Are we going first?" You ask.

Aemond nods.

Fuck. You hate going first.

And as if by magic-

"Aemond fucking Targaryen. The One-Eyed wonder!"

Qoren's voice has a tendency to travel. And right now, it's travelling through every nerve in you, jolting them awake. He walks over with a swagger, a slowness, clad entirely in bright mustard and wine tones, akin to his partner who is sat on the bench scrolling through her phone.

Aemond sighs, "Qoren" he greets flatly, rubbing his thumb against his temple on the marred side of his face.

"Just wanted to say good luck" Qoren smirks, nudging a curled wave out his face, "I'm certain you won't need it"

Cunt.

That's what you want to say.

Instead, you roll your eyes and take Aemond's hand leading him to the ice rink.

"Ignore him" you tell him, pulling of the blade guards and tossing them aside.

Aemond huffs a laugh, "Seven Hells, if he's in your bad books he's done for" he replies, joining you as you both go out onto the ice to do a few laps.

"Our Crownlands couple look ready and composed for a challenge today"

"And a challenge it will be. It's never easy going first, especially against the Martells. They'll have to work for it"

You skate next to him for a few warm-up laps, the heat rising again to your face as he takes your hand, giving his signature one sided smile.

Your heart flutters pleasantly.

In front of all these people?

He sees your reaction.

"I'm not going to hide anything anymore, princess" he says softly, "I've done it for far too long"

One part of you wants to cry with joy.

The other wants to drag him to the nearest dark corner.

So instead, you squeeze his hand. A good compromise.

As you skate to a halt in the middle, you mouth the words.

'I love you'

And your heart roars with delight.

He mouths it back.

"Our couple seem utterly smitten with each other"

"Their chemistry rivals the Martells, for sure!"

Taking a deep breath, you and Aemond nod to each other, getting in position to wait until the music starts.

It's quiet.

You could hear a pin drop.

His hand is warm.

The clarinets begin to play, the opening sequence of violins accompanying the music as you and Aemond begin the medium paced routine. The only sound you both can hear is the blades tearing through the ice, the rustle of your clothing against each other and the shallow breaths between each movement of the routine, moving swiftly hand in hand, twirling and feeling light and airy as Aemond lifts you effortlessly.

The music is almost frantic, the trumpets are getting so loud that they almost vibrate the ice beneath you. But you concentrate on the routine at hand, letting Aemond take your weight with each quick lift into the air, each synchronised motion perfectly executed.

“Quite a quick routine from the couple. Good choice of song and good technical ability so far”

“Yes, they really look like a proper team now, don’t they?”

As the music picks up momentum, you briefly glance at the stands mid-spin, smirking when you spot Otto’s eyes half closed, looking right at you. As if wondering what it is you are thinking.

Drums.

As Aemond moves in front of you for a split second, your hands lift to your shoulders, unpopping the buttons there.

No going back now.

Aemond looks over you in brief shock as the black is completely encompassed, a sheet of dark green falling over it like a curtain, replacing the beaded darkness with the bright forest colour he was so used to seeing his mother wear on her old performances.

It quickly changes to a barely-contained smile as the fabric laps at your thighs, the green mesh replacing the translucent black, right as the music hits its crescendo.

"Oh my-is that what I think it is!"

"Hightower Green looks very good on our Ice Princess!"

You don’t even have time to look at Otto.

The audience is a mix of clapping, awes and shouting of support. Never wavering for a moment.

Aemond continues the routine with a big, boyish smile plastered onto his face, performing the rest of the moves and lifts with a renewed vigour and passion that was not there before.

The rest of it seems to fly by, assisted by the smitten way you look at one another. Before you even know it, the music has died out. You and Aemond face each other, foreheads almost touching as the applause roars around you, several items like flowers and flags being thrown onto the ice around you.

It’s difficult to describe Aemond’s expression. Awe? Affection? Lust?

Love.

All you know is that you love it. And that all this was worth it.

You’re about to open your mouth, when his hands find each side of your face, his fingers holding the back of your head desperately, as he crashes his lips to yours.

In front of everyone.

In front of all of Westeros.

It feels exhilarating. Adrenaline boils the blood inside you, burning for him. And when you part, breathless after not only that, but the energy of the routine, all you can do is smile. Feeling so in love with him it’s honestly disgraceful.

Hand in hand, you bow to the audience, a massive grin plastered on your face. Rhaenys, Baela and Rhaena are all stood, clapping passionately. Larys is seated at the end of a particular row, both hands clasped on his cane, smirking beneath it, as if he just loves watching the drama unfold.

And then Otto.

You’re happy to find he looks absolutely livid.

That's right, you think. This is where my loyalties lie.

Aemond’s grip tightens on you as you give your bow to the judges. But it’s not a tight, comforting hold. Not one of victory, or love.

“Aemond?..” you ask, turning to him.

He’s breathing heavily, his other hand pressed to the scarred side of his face, his good eye blinking quickly as he turns to you.

Your face blanches, “Aemond, what’s wrong-”

“I’m fine, it’s just-ah fuck”

He nearly doubles over in pain, his hand pressed painfully to the left side of his face, the faintest bit of blood trickling between his fingers.

Panic rings through you, and with your hands on his sides, you guide him on the ice towards the edge, helping him sit, ignoring the muffled whispers and rumours that echo around the atrium, “let me see, Aemond..”

He shakes his head erratically, “No, no, just-I’m okay”

“Aemond you are not okay” you urge, watching the way his other eye waters from the pain, his face going pink as he encourages himself to take deep breaths.

“It appears he may have some sort of injury. We’re waiting on some updates from management”

“Who do you need me to call?” you ask him hurriedly,

“I don’t know-fucking-call Mum, please” he replies pitifully, bending over in searing, hot pain that radiates from his eye socket.

Spotting Arryk, you rush over and grab his phone that he throws, pulling it to your ear while rubbing Aemond’s shoulder.

“Aemond, take the sapphire out, it’s just going to hurt you more-”

“No, no, I can’t-” he shakes his head, panicked and scared.

“Aemond”

When his good eye meets you, he looks so vulnerable and unsure you almost regret your tone.

But you just want him to be okay.

Turning away, he dislodges the sapphire, his hand still covering his face, despite having the utmost trust in you, he still doesn’t want you to see it, all red and sore.

“Hello, Alicent? Yeah I think Aemond is having one of his neurological-fuck-I don’t know-episodes? I don’t know what to do?” you speak nervously into the phone.

“I know, I know, sweet girl. He needs to go to Urgent Care right away, and needs his glycerol injections, alright? Where’s my father?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see him!”

“He has Aemond’s health insurance card, okay, find him and get him to hospital as soon as you can. okay? Has he taken the sapphire out?”

“Yes, I made him”

“Good. Until he gets to hospital, just apply a warm compress and keep him calm, okay? You can do this”

You hang up quickly, looking around and spotting Otto as he paves his way through the crowd of people. Still rubbing Aemond’s shoulder, all notions of hating him are gone in favour of helping the quivering, vulnerable man in front of you, whining pitifully as his nerves are set aflame.

“Otto, he needs to go to a hospital. Do you have his health card?”

Stoically, he nods, his eyes ignoring you, “I do, Arryk will take us. Come on”

He assists Aemond to his feet, leading him to the exit with urgency.

The fire doors open and Aemond turns to you, “You have to stay”

“What? No! I’m coming with you!”

“One of us has to stay, we’ll get disqualified” he reasons, with a wavering voice.

“Aemond, I don’t care about-”

“Well I do. Stay” he urges.

You go quiet, staring at him in disbelief and also shock. And seeing it all over your face, how conflicted both of you are, he leans forward pressing a kiss to your forehead, his fingers stroking your hair lovingly.

“I’ll be fine, baby..” he adds softly, “Stay”

You watch him hurry out of the fire escape, and straight into the back of Arryk’s car with Otto. He’s so doubled over in pain, clutching the sapphire in one fist, that he barely has any time to look back at you standing there, the warm air making the mesh skirt lap at your legs.

You only meet his worried gaze at the last second.

A shuddered breath tumbles from your lips, the adrenaline and panic of the last few minutes just sinking in. You feel a bit helpless, unable to do anything for him as he’s driven to hospital.

“Hey” the soothing voice of Rhaenys at your side pulls you out, and you look at her with bleary eyes, “are you alright?”

You nod quickly, “Yeah, I think so..”

She guides you back inside, sitting at the sidelines, “Sit here, I’ll get you a drink”

You can’t relax. The room feels like it’s spinning.

“Just a little update. Aemond Targaryen has been rushed to hospital in what we believe is an episode of acute pain due to a long-standing condition”

“We’ll wish him all the best in hospital and hope it isn’t anything too serious”

Rhaenys gives you a warm cup of coffee, but you can’t drink it, you’re too on edge already. And if any caffeine is pumped into your already hammering heart, you think it might explode.

You don’t even concentrate on the performance the Martells are doing, eyes nowhere near the scoreboard. Your leg bounces nervously, fully aware that you are probably being scrutinised endlessly by the media, with hundreds of articles already written about you.

Their orange and red outfits dance in your periphery. Spins, twists, lifts. Things that right now, don’t mean an awful lot to you. All you can think about is when Aemond turned to you, blood trickling between his fingers, face twisted in pain.

“Hey…”

You don’t even realise you’ve zoned out until Rhaenys taps your arm excitedly.

Shaking your head, you look around, everyone’s stood. Smiling. Clapping. The Martells are lazily skating their way to their end of the rink, talking with their manager, with bowed heads.

“Wha?..” you reply, completely dazed, “what’s happened?..”

“Qoren’s partner fucked her landing. They’re a whole 10 points short on the technical. Not including the penalty they’re likely to get” she replies, leaning closely to whisper it, a victorious smirk on her face.

Oh shit.

Your eyes meet the scoreboard, watching as the rest of the scores come in.

With the penalty, they’re tragically low. But your breath feels hot in your throat still.

This was always the part you hated.

Rhaenys’ ring-clad hand grips yours tightly.

The crowd's cheer, applause and shouts of support are nothing compared to the roaring in your ears.

"We won"

Entirely shocked beyond words and comprehension, Rhaenys pulls you into a hug, jumping up and down excitedly. Your face is blanched with shock, eyes still, and you realise you must look a total idiot to everyone else. The reality of the situation still not entirely dawning on you.

"The Crownlands have done it. The Championship title is theirs!"

"Shame our Ice Prince cannot be there to receive his trophy"

"Go! Go!" Rhaenys urges, pushing you by your shoulders to the stands where the judges are all grinning, holding the trophy, medals and large bouquet of gloriously colourful flowers.

It's a blurred slew of 'well done' and 'congratulations'.

The Martells, though devastated, nod in your direction in congratulations. And you barely hear it, but Qoren even seems to offer some sort of kind words for Aemond's condition.

Still doesn't make him less of a twat.

The trophy, long and golden, is heavy in your hands, rested against your shoulder, with the flowers pushed into your other, shoulders sagging with the weight of two medals around your neck.

Aemond.

With a few quick thank yous and bows of your head, your panicked, searching eyes find Rhaenys, who already has her car keys and your jacket in her grip.

"Come on" she utters, "quickly"

It feels utterly silly to still be wearing the green outfit for the competition while riding in the passenger seat of Rhaenys' Mercedes. But at least your black jacket provides some semblance of normality. You didn't even have time to take the medals off.

You did however, change your shoes, shucking your skates off in the footwell of her car.

She's driving well over the speed limit. But hey, most of Sunspear are as well. Through several junctions, she even graces some of the locals with her middle finger.

If you weren't so taut with nerves, it'd make you laugh.

The tyres screech loudly as she pulls into the hospital car park, the trophy nestled between your legs nearly making you trip over yourself as you hurl yourself out the car door.

Those tell-tale clicks of camera shutters and the echo of incessant questions are instantly upon you.

With the trophy loosely in one hand, all you can do is run to the entrance of the hospital, where the media are not allowed.

This time, they part a path for you.

The security guards at the front who have been fending them off, see your outfit, medals and trophy and immediately slip the door open, "Room 47"

You nod in thanks, your breath feeling like blood in your throat from the effort of running so fast and so suddenly. The lights inside the hospital hallways are stark, clinical, and far too bright. Your trainers thud against the linoleum floor, eyes desperately searching for the numbers on the rooms.

"25...24...shit, I'm going the wrong way-"

Aemond.

It doesn't help in the slightest that the hospital is a complete maze. You probably look a complete mess, pink in the face, hair all mussed up from running, but it's the last thing on your mind.

At the end of the hallway, you spot Otto, chatting with a dark-haired man in a white coat. Engaged in conversation, only looking up when the tide of loud footsteps comes closer to them.

You don't care about that either.

Otto tries to reach out to stop you from going in, but you're too fast, fiddling with the handle of the door before he has a chance to pull you back.

It's quiet. Your hurried breathing sounds so loud in your chest.

The door slams into the wall and Aemond looks up, seated sideways on the hospital bed. His cheeks are pink, from the remnants of pain that still linger, but he looks calmer, relaxed, with his brows unfrowned and sitting comfortably on his forehead. His hair, that was so neatly styled for the competition in his signature bun is somewhat curled from the sweat on his forehead and back of his neck.

A surgical patch is taped over his left eye.

His lips twitch when he sees you there, his right eye gleaming with affection, clearly out of breath, having ran the entire length of the hospital to get to him.

"Hey Princess..." he says softly, in a way that never fails to make your heart lurch into your throat.

You almost cry with relief that he's alright.

He licks his dry lips, "Did we do it?..."

With a relieved smile, a lump forming in your throat with emotion, you nod quickly, "Yeah...yeah we did..."

The breath is expelled from your lungs near-painfully when you surge towards each other, throwing your arms around one another, the trophy propped on the floor where you were previously stood.

He feels warm, with his hands around you like this, his heart thrumming fast in his chest. Your body sags against him.

He feels like home.

You hear him inhale, the familiar scent of you immediately having a calming effect on his body, his hand raising to brush your hair from your face as his palms cup either side of it, pressing a light feather-like kiss to your forehead.

His thumb wipes your undereye of moisture. But his smile says it all, his eyes crinkling, briefly irritating the spot where he's obviously had his glycerol injections not a moment before.

"I never doubted you" he utters quietly, "...not for a second"

You give a watery laugh. Hardly recognising this Aemond compared to the one you first met.

Competitions.

Scores.

Drama.

It all means fucking nothing.

The future. Happiness. It's all right here.

"Aemond Targaryen, don't ever scare me like that again..." you smile at him, half-joking, fingers tenderly stroking along his jawline, prickles of regrowth rubbing comfortingly along your skin.

He huffs a laugh through his nose, his mouth opening slightly as he smiles.

"No promises, princess"

And finally, with a pleased little muffled sound crawling up your throat, his tender, full lips descend onto yours, sealing whatever is felt between you right now and all that has happened before.

It doesn't even need to be said. Those three little words.

Because they're just not enough.

Aemond Taglist (1): @asp3nxx | @avidreader73 | @bellaisasleep | @boofy1998

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saerins · 4 months

Text

⋆୨ chapter six ୧˚ redefines in every way what love is

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ previous: chapter five - if not for this love of mine <> next: chapter seven - till forever falls apart ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 13.2k | ೀ content warnings: fluff/angst, modern au, arranged marriage, rich!sae and rich!reader, jealousy/paranoia, third parties, manipulation, mostly from sae’s (& mirin’s) pov | notes: okay i’ve finally finished it !! sorry for the super long break but real life had a chokehold on me (aka my job sucks) </3 anyway ! hope you enjoy sae’s pov , heh he’s so bad at relationships but sorry i love him <3 next chapter should be the last so ^_^

Sae & Mirin; 17.

It was a peculiar feeling.

Up until that point, whatever interest Sae had in life centred around soccer. Around being the best. Needless to say, when his parents weren’t too happy about both their sons not wanting to take over the family business, Sae took the brunt of it all.

His fingers idly traced circles around the injury on his ankle—the injury caused by another player perpetrated by his parents. It was honestly laughable; the extent to which his parents would go to to have him submit to their will.

“Hey, handsome and gloomy.”

There was that voice he loved to hear. It was silly how easy it was for a special someone to make him smile. A warm pair of arms wrapped themselves around his neck from behind, pressing her weight down on top of him.

“Yes, pretty?”

Mirin laughed, that smile lighting up her features. Her lips pressed a kiss against his cheek before she settled beside him.

They were sitting on top of the school building—after lessons, because Mirin had strict parents who would kill her if she ever skipped class.

“Look at you, moping up here all on your own, ignoring your girlfriend,” she mused, body swaying from side to side before her head eventually rested on his shoulder. A sigh left her lips, the graduation looming upon them catching up to her.

Sae chuckled, pressing a soft kiss onto the top of her head, both of them relishing in the moment. There was an uneasiness that pressed in the air around them, but it was one that Sae chose to ignore. Mirin had a lot of things on her mind that she liked to keep to herself, and this was something that happened very often. It could be because of her overbearing parents, but Sae never minded that.

“Sae, can I ask you something?”

It was a timid tone that he wasn’t used to, but he let it slide.

“Anything.”

“Ten years from now, would you still love me the same?” It was a question that made Sae snort, because he didn’t realise Mirin would talk about the future. She wasn’t one to do so. She nudged him on the arm, laughing along with him because it was hard for her to be all down when she was around him. “Hey, I’m serious, ten years from now, would you still love this annoying, hard headed girlfriend of yours?”

At that time, it wasn’t a hard question. At that time, all Sae could see and care about was Mirin. There was never a doubt in his mind.

So he looked her in the eye, his pinky finger looped around hers.

“Ten years from now, huh? Think I would’ve married you by then.”

Mirin smiled, the most genuine one she ever let loose in her life. Only because at that moment, she felt his sincerity. The only person who treated her with any sort of decency in the way that she needed. In the face of her strict family, with Sae, she had nothing to fear. He was all she needed.

“I’ll hold you to it, Itoshi Sae.”

Sae chuckled, leaning down to kiss Mirin on the lips. “Whatever you say, Mrs Itoshi.”

A few months ago.

The news was broken to him like he was watching a news program and the news anchor was reporting on some trivial matter.

As always, his father said such a thing oh so casually, eating away at his lamb chop and then swiftly switching the subject to wedding preparations, as if his son was a tool that he could command at will.

“What did you just say?”

Because surely Sae heard him wrongly? Surely his father did not just mention that he was to be married to a stranger he barely knew?

This was his life, wasn’t it?

“I expect you to behave, do you understand?” His father responds, ignoring Sae’s question completely. He knew his son heard him, he said it loud and clear after all. “Anyway, we’ll pay fifty-fifty and—”

“No.”

There was a threat in his father’s glare, but it was one that Sae was way too used to.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t care why you need this stupid marriage to go through but I’m not doing it.”

It was just laughable; there wasn’t any panic evident in his father’s expression. Sae should’ve known, he could already feel what was coming. If anything, his father was always prepared. It was plans on top of plans, a contingency for every situation.

“Either do this, or I’ll get Rin instead. It’ll be a pain, but don’t think I won’t do it.”

There were a lot of things Sae hated his father for, but what he hated the most was how Rin had to be brought into the conversation as a threat whenever he didn’t get his way. He knew it was the only way to control Sae, and he wasn’t afraid to use it.

“Honey! Stop speaking like that… Sae, please try to understand, this will be a huge opportunity. It’s the least you owe us, hm?”

And Sae didn’t even want to think about his mother. The one who always went along with everything because she was in love with the money she married into. The one who always used faux concern as a tool to ease Sae into his father’s plans.

In the end, neither of them cared for their kids. They were only seen as heirs. Like they owed them for being born. That they were only supposed to unconditionally go along with whatever orders they were given without a second thought. They wanted robots more than actual children, it seemed.

“You lost your shot, do you want Rin to lose his too?”

It was almost all too clear who sabotaged Sae’s chance at being a pro footballer. All it took was a single moment of disobedience from Sae and sponsorship of an entire year’s worth of tuition to one of his rivals to get his leg too injured to play in comfort.

As much as it sucked, all three of them knew Sae’s answer. And just like that, his father was victorious.

“Besides, Y/N seems to be excited for this,” his mother said, trying to switch the subject.

“I’m not fucking marrying her. I don’t even know her.” The words flew out of his mouth before he even realised it.

Maybe it had something to do with Mirin. With that rumour he heard going around that she was either already back in Japan or she was coming back soon. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Sae had been waiting for her this whole time, that she was the only one he ever loved.

Of course, none of that would change his parents’ minds. Consuming your family’s company would bring them a ton of uplift that could sustain their business for many years to come, something a money-greedy businessman would go to extreme lengths to get. So it didn’t matter if Mirin’s family could also bring in benefits in terms of cooperation—it would never amount to yours.

And it was wrong. It was wrong of Sae to vent all of his hatred to the fact that you existed, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

Why did you have to exist?

“Maybe we should just pull Rin out then, get him to come back here and handle all this.” His father knew not to back down.

“Sae, be a good boy and listen to us, okay? How about this—if it ever gets too bad, we’ll look into a divorce in the future, hm?” His mother was just useless, but she did at least consider how he could get out of it. Even if it would prove to be difficult in the future.

Giving up entirely, Sae walked out of the front door. There was no way out of it, for now. Not without consequences. Dire ones. For Rin.

Pulling out Oliver’s contact, Sae hit the call button, with Oliver picking up right as he got into a cab.

“Meet you guys at our usual. I need a fucking drink.”

Day of the wedding.

To say that Sae had cold feet would be an understatement.

His marriage to you would be within the next few hours. After what, a couple months of informing him that they’d arranged him to marry the daughter of their close university friends? And they left a very not-so-subtle hint that they’d force Rin back to marry her if Sae didn’t comply.

Sae realised that your family’s company rivals his own, but who would’ve thought that their sudden yield to the Itoshis wanting to buy the company would result in so much shit being passed onto Sae himself?

There were options presented to him to meet you beforehand. All of which you had agreed to (or so his parents said) and all of which he had declined. He really didn’t have the intention of playing nice with you, or acting like he cared about you. To Sae, all you were was someone standing in between the possibility of him and Mirin.

But he did see you as you walked to the venue all on your own. Without a car or your parents, dressed in a loose white sleeveless top and jeans, buying a pack of tissues from the old man across the road, giving him entirely too much money for a three-pack and then refusing the change.

Teal eyes continued observing you as the old man bowed in gratitude, and your demeanour suggested that it probably wasn’t the first time you were giving money out like charity. Sae noticed the pair of half moon crescents as you smiled, the way it lit up your entire face.

If he thought hard enough, maybe he could remember that one time you saw each other when you were kids. Just that once. He was five. You were four. He vaguely remembered you excitedly chattering away to him about something. Sae doubted you remembered any of that though. It was only once and even he didn’t recall anything about it until today.

Tearing his eyes away from you, he walked away from the ledge of the window at his dressing room, sitting on the edge of the bed, idly staring at his phone, at the messages blowing it up, mostly of Oliver and Otoya in the groupchat, saying how Mirin was actually back.

If there was one thing his friends were good at, it was detective work that they didn’t need to do. Because by now, Sae didn’t want to know.

As much as he hated his circumstances, as much as he didn’t like this situation, he was going to be a married man soon. As much as he didn’t want to, he would rather forget about Mirin sooner than later. It would only serve more hurt if he chose the latter anyway.

Still, false hope wasn’t what he wanted to give you. There was nothing that he could think of that would persuade him to love anyone else but her. That was exactly why he found himself outside your dressing room, waiting to speak to you.

Your sister was with you, and Sae kept his thoughts to himself; he remembered your earlier smile. You were the prettier one in his eyes. That didn’t change what he had to do regardless. And both of you are similar in a frustrating way—both of you like to mask your troubles with your smiles.

Maybe you didn’t want this either, then?

“Hi, um, it’s nice to meet you.”

You sounded like the most awkward person in the world. Not that it mattered. Maybe the awkward distance between the two of you would work in his favour then.

“I wanted to set things straight before we go through with anything.”

Your expression wasn’t one of happiness to begin with, but the moment he said his piece, your face looked like all the blood drained from it. Sae averted his gaze. He didn’t like hurting anyone, and surely he didn’t care for you just yet, but this was better than giving you any sort of hope.

He needed to keep it up. Even after today. Tonight, tomorrow and everyday. Until he could see that you understand where this marriage would go; absolutely nowhere, but that both of you had to stay anyway.

But your parents had impeccable timing, coming over to the room right as he was exiting. That just meant he had to entertain your family for a few more seconds, nothing too difficult. He had been dealing with his father for his whole life after all.

“So, this is the first time you’re meeting our Y/N right? What do you think, son?” Your father sounded like his father when he was trying to play nice. Suddenly it made sense that they would be in cahoots to force their kids together.

“Your daughter is…” Sae lost himself in thought for a while, thinking back to that smile he saw on you, that genuine smile when you were helping someone. Not this fake one you have plastered on to make it seem like everything was okay. You had no obligation to cover for his actions but you did it anyway. “Pretty.”

And even prettier when she’s actually smiling, he thought to himself as he retreated back to his own dressing room.

Later on during the wedding reception, Sae tried his best to act the part of a happy husband. It was hard though, considering how stiff and awkward you were. You really didn’t have talent for being an actress. He let slip a few harsh reminders, but he was careful not to get too into it—last thing he needed was for you to cry.

You were nothing to him. Nothing but the one he had to marry to get his parents off him and his brother’s back.

So why did he feel a tinge of something when he caught your best friend staring? Mikage Reo, not a bad catch himself, and he had been your best friend since elementary school, if Sae recalled correctly.

That was all he could think about when he stormed back to the dressing room, wantonly irritated by his father and mildly annoyed by your concern. The only reason he could think of for being angry was the lingering feelings of an unresolved first love.

The only one he thought he would marry, would watch as she walked down the aisle like a princess out of a fairytale. The only one who taught him love and gave him the most treasured memories of his youth. The only one who could, at this moment, receive his kindness while everyone else would be dead in his eyes.

And of course the universe would perpetuate such a connection; his phone buzzed with notifications from Mirin. An almost empty thread opened up, and he was reminded of when he tried to forget her when she dated another guy while she was overseas. But how could he really forget her when she came back and told him she couldn’t forget about him either? That if it wasn’t too much, if he could wait for her to come back?

Sae won’t deny that there was a mix of emotions about it, that Karasu had told him many times before he thought she was just leading him on, that she wanted a comfortable failsafe for when she inevitably came back and didn’t want to be alone.

That was the key reason why they drifted.

And now, she came back. She came back and she didn’t get her invite because Sae threw it in the trash because even if he didn’t know you, it was common sense that he couldn’t invite Mirin—not when she was the only person capable of changing his mind. Not when he knew she wouldn’t be afraid to voice herself.

Sae didn’t particularly like you, but he wasn’t going to deliberately hurt you that way. He was sure he would upset you in many other ways, unintentionally, but he told himself he wouldn’t do that to you.

As he looked at her chat thread, at his possible responses—how could i ever forget? and i wish it was you and many more he didn’t have the energy to type out—Sae swallowed the lump in his throat. There was a battle going on in his head; the one that knew what was right and the one that wanted to go with his heart.

He succumbed to both.

Staring at his i miss you, he started to remember how hard you tried to keep up with him earlier that day, how you probably tried to stay at his good side.

With his head in his hands, he felt the familiar flow of tears threatening to unveil—it was a hard decision but he had to make it.

That was it. Sae had decided. He had to let go of Mirin and whatever promises they made.

She had to stay in the past.

As he looked at her nickname on his phone, he wished he could will the memories away. Even as he saw her response. Even as he knew the way she told him she missed him too would haunt him for a good while.

Goodbye.

Stepping into the house you two would share felt more than just a little uneasy. Both of you had never been in the same room before today and now your parents expected the both of you to just be okay living together.

Maybe it was a little too much of Sae to just take the master bedroom and banish you to the other one, but it had been a long day and he really wasn’t a saint. He had expected you to argue back but you didn’t, and that was fine with him—maybe once he cleared his head he could think of ways to make it so things were fairer to you but not now.

Not when he was a mix of emotions just threatening to explode.

It was especially perplexing when he got into the room and started checking it out that he found his things already there, unpacked for him, a familiar black box he had once kept precious sitting on the study desk. He didn’t have to open it to know what was inside.

Apart from pictures with Rin, he really should just burn everything else.

Next time. It was always a problem for next time because he was way too annoyed at life for everything else. Looking at it was just a reminder, too, of a life he had once craved and he couldn’t move forward if it was still there.

Yeah, yeah, he’d burn it all to ashes next time and leave it all in the past like he planned.

The next few days after that, count Sae mildly surprised when you kept trying in subtle ways to ease the tension between the two of you.

There were a few things you did; you kept at your good mornings, and on the days you were feeling particularly courageous you bothered to ask him what he wanted for dinner. He didn’t reciprocate much, only contributed his mornings and told you he didn’t need dinner (although he would note how delicious the food you cooked smelled when he came home afterwards).

There was something strange about the way you made him feel—he didn’t understand where you got the energy to keep trying when you knew this wasn’t what either of you wanted. It was easy enough for him to tell that your parents forced you into this too, but what wasn’t easy was trying to see why you were so good.

What was even more frustrating was the sense of comfort he felt. It was alarming. He didn’t know why it was there. But he found himself trying to reject it.

“Isn’t this supposed to be your honeymoon period or something?”

“C’mon, Oliver, they don’t even sleep in the same room,” Otoya sighed, getting bored of the subject. He was also getting tired of watching Sae’s unenthused face every night.

Ever since he got married, he hasn’t once spent a normal night in. He just didn’t think he had any energy to spend on trying to be cordial with you. Not when a million things are still running through his head in a loop.

It was only 8.30pm, and both Oliver and Otoya were already bringing the big liquor bottles out, the lights in the karaoke room dimming.

“Where’s Karasu?”

“Busy again, with god knows what.” Otoya always sounded disinterested in anything and everything. “Where’s the girls?”

The girls, meaning the usual two that they had as fuck buddies, something Sae didn’t care for. That could be all Otoya cared for, actually.

“On the way,” Oliver replied, pouring the whisky into the shot glasses on the table. Three, even though Sae didn’t want any. “By the way,” Oliver said, a hint of mischief in his eyes as he turned to look at Sae. “I have a special guest for you.”

“What?” Sae was entirely too tired to have time to play another one of Oliver’s mind games.

Oliver was already downing a shot for no reason, and Sae chalked it up to being under the constant pressure of being a big shot lawyer’s son.

“That’s who I asked Karasu to get before coming here,” Oliver grinned, sliding a shot glass over to Sae.

Sae ignored it. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Come on, don’t play dumb,” Oliver groaned, throwing his head back against the leather seats dramatically. “Mirin? The name ring a bell?”

It did more than ring a bell, actually. It made Sae’s heart stop, made him speechless. Made Otoya snicker at his reaction.

“Thought I’d offer some incentive to cheer you up from that boring loveless marriage of yours,” Oliver commented, tossing a pack of cigarettes onto the table and lighting one up.

If Sae was being completely honest, he did want to see Mirin. He hadn’t seen her for so many years, he found a passing thought that wondered if she was still as pretty as he remembered, if she still scrunched her nose in that cute way she did and if she still used the same perfume that he liked.

But for some reason, Sae kept thinking back to you. What would you think if you found out? Somehow, he realised maybe that fact alone could make you cry. And somehow, for some abstract reason he couldn’t make out, he wasn’t okay with that.

In the background, he could faintly make out the conversation between Otoya and Oliver, something about how Otoya thought Mirin looked hot from her pictures, and how Oliver encouraged the thought, saying shit like “wait till you see her in real life.”

Normally, he’d feel like punching those who dared to talk about Mirin like that, but at that moment all he felt was nausea. In a weird turn of events, he kind of actually wanted to punch Oliver for taking a subtle dig at you. You were a good person. Even if Sae wasn’t particularly innocent at treating you less than you deserve.

Nausea nausea nausea.

It got even worse when seconds later, Karasu strolled through their door, a smirk on his face aimed at Sae.

“She’s in the restroom freshening up,” Karasu said, winking this time, Oliver whistling in anticipation.

His head was in a mess, wanting to bolt out of there straight away but failing to do so in time because the next minute, Sae watched as his first love walked through the door, looking beautiful as ever.

“Wow, four handsome guys in the room with me, huh?”

She’d gotten flirtier than he remembered. And she wasn’t directly talking to him yet, which was a relief for him.

“Yeah darling, wanna help us take a pic?” Oliver smirked, tossing her his phone.

Sae was just in a daze, looking at the camera as Mirin snapped a picture, her eyes lingering over him through the phone. If he wasn’t married, he was sure he would’ve reacted differently, but as things stood, this was wrong.

The moment Oliver suggested Mirin sit next to Sae for a picture, Sae found himself walking towards the door, muttering an excuse about how he had another appointment and leaving.

“Hey Sae, wait up—”

Mirin’s voice was loud and clear as she chased him out the door but Sae was faster. He was back into his car and driving back home, back to you, before he even made sense of it all.

When he walked through the front door, ready to just pass out on the bed because he had too many surprises earlier, he could smell the homemade cooking—the same one that made him feel nice coming home to. It was more prominent than usual.

Of course it was, because he could see the untouched food as he walked past the dining room. You were there, sitting there, a little pathetic but cute, and Sae didn’t really know what to do.

“Why haven’t you eaten?”

And you seemed a little more determined than usual, although the trembling of your fingers said otherwise. You were that easily scared of him?

“I was waiting for you.”

It was a simple thing, really. A wife waiting for her husband to get home first before eating. But to Sae, it was inexplicable. There was never any instance where he had an easy time going home, especially before this. Going home meant listening to his parents argue over money and having to pretend he didn’t hear it and have to watch them take the same stance as though he didn’t just hear their divide. Home-cooked food had lost its meaning for Sae a long time ago when all he had were private chefs cooking with technique and just that.

Since when did going home mean there would be a warm dinner waiting for him with so much effort put into picking out what he liked? Did you pay attention to his takeout whenever he ordered in?

“I already ate.”

There it was—that denial again that Sae just couldn’t seem to get rid of. Because wouldn’t all marriages dissolve into what his parents had without a strong foundation? They never loved each other, that much Sae could tell. For the longest time, he had thought maybe for once, someone could have a happy family if they actually felt the same about each other and for the longest time that person to him was Mirin.

The same girl he ignored earlier. The same girl he brushed past to get home to you. The same girl who didn’t seem to have as much of a hold over him as he thought after he saw her in the flesh.

Maybe that was why he found himself wanting to try. He had rejected you many times, relegating you to the other end of the house so he didn’t have to see you and feel guilty all the time. It was pathetic of him, yeah, and he was sorry. And call him a coward but he didn’t know how to handle any of this like a normal person would. Normal people probably wouldn’t have to be forced to marry a stranger though.

For once in his life, Sae found himself trying. Trying something he was so averse to in the first place. Trying something that he found so curious because you managed to bring it out of him.

Your efforts didn’t have to be big. It was all so small, so subtle. He saw everything and he tried to reject it—so why is he here now, picking the meat off the bones for you? You seemed so nervous he was afraid you might miss a bone and hurt yourself.

Which made no sense because you didn’t mean anything to him. Right?

So why did he feel the familiar tug on his lips, the smile threatening to form just from a simple dinner, the same way you managed to tug on his heartstrings?

When Sae heard you asking him for a favour, he thought you might’ve been joking. But your demeanour suggested you might not be. It was kind of weird, how you claimed that it was your parents who wanted to check up on the marriage and so you said that you needed Sae to cooperate, but at the same time you looked absolutely gleeful at the thought of having some semblance of normalcy in your married life with him.

He did you a favour by not calling you out for it.

But he couldn’t stop himself from being curious, from wondering what you looked like if he really threw you a bone. That was the driving force behind his close proximity to you, so close he could smell the shampoo off your hair and appreciate the way your breath hitched in your throat.

Cute.

He kept that to himself too, kept entirely way too many opinions of you to himself instead of sharing them with you.

“How are they gonna believe a thing when you’re that awkward around me?”

He gave a mental reminder to himself: maybe he should help you work on that.

But the moment you brought up finances, a bad feeling lurked in the back of his head. Just a gut feeling, if anything. Maybe it was because he was brought up in a similar household that he could tell when other people had bad intentions.

Your parents weren’t exempt from it, he was sure. They treated you like trash, from what he heard earlier, and he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to rid what would make your life harder.

You were his wife, after all.

“You want me to… transfer all my money into this account?”

He got it, it was a tough ask. Especially since Sae had been none too nice to you since you got married, but for this one, he was adamant. So you did. You gave him all your money like he asked and he really needed to teach you not to be so naive around other people but maybe you felt the same pull as he did, the overwhelming urge to trust even though it wasn’t so much rightfully earned yet.

Stupidly, he felt just that little bit of excitement creeping up inside him at the notion of actually getting a possibly normal marriage to a perfectly good person until his phone vibrated and he saw the name he was hoping he would never have to deal with again.

Mirin wanted to meet.

And if she had not texted to say it was urgent, Sae probably would’ve ignored it. But they spent a chunk of their youth together and it was way too much for him to forget all in a few days.

Still, he didn’t want to give in so easily.

As the days passed, it was strange how easy it was to warm up to you. It was as though the friction between you never existed in the first place.

Somehow, it felt like the both of you were learning as you went through with it—a marriage where you both were learning to be friends first, and Sae never actually knew how much he needed that, how much he enjoyed it.

He didn’t think he’d like it one bit.

But there he was, constantly texting you most times because you were the only person he didn’t mind speaking to nowadays. Well, you and Rin. Maybe Oliver, but after his last stunt he didn’t really want to speak to him.

Sae sighed as he texted you that he’d be coming home late. The frames already came through the mail anyway, he suspected you’d have a good time hanging the photos up everywhere. You loved taking pictures that day after all.

“Wife checking up on you?”

Mirin’s question sounded innocent, but it was enough to irk Sae. To him, it sounded invasive.

“What did you need?” Because she didn’t need to know anything about you. Sae didn’t want her to; Mirin was in the past and he wanted to make sure it stayed that way.

This entire meeting was set up only because perhaps Sae thought she didn’t warrant herself a bad reception from him. She didn’t do anything wrong.

And neither was he, so why was he afraid to just be upfront with you and tell you about Mirin?

Seemingly taken aback by his tone, Mirin looked away nervously. This was a weird setting to be in for someone who said they were upset. Sae had expected a quiet cafe or maybe even a park, not a restaurant at a five-star hotel.

Then again, this was Mirin. Someone who had been brought up being able to enjoy everything to its finest.

“I just needed a friend, that’s all.”

A sure-fire way to earn his sympathy was right there in front of him. Sure, they might have drifted for a while, but it wasn’t like Sae thought she was a bad person. She always used to be strong on her own, steadfast, never needed anything or anyone that sometimes Sae felt like he wasn’t even needed.

Yet there she was, tears spilling down her face and trying to smile and suddenly Sae couldn’t continue being so harsh anymore.

A friend was all he was going to be. It was all he would allow himself to be. The entire night, all he could think about was how much he had missed this whole time—a lot had changed the last few years. The happy family he once knew Mirin’s to be was no more, an unfaithful mother took care of that. And apparently, her father had been on a downward spiral ever since. It was why she moved back, to take care of him.

“But sometimes it gets to be too much, you know?” She was sobbing, and Sae could only watch helplessly. It was not something he was familiar with, but he knew Mirin—she wasn’t someone who would share something like this to anyone. The fact she had called him out of the blue would allude to the fact that she didn’t want to tell anyone else.

It was a lot for him to take in; just imagining being in her shoes, having a father who spiralled into nothing and refused to get back to work, having to take care of him while managing her own shit—Sae didn’t know if he would be that filial at all, but then again, his father was a lot less of one than hers was.

“Anyway,” she sniffled, wiping her tears away and trying to smile. “How’s married life? Y/N, is it?”

Sae cleared his throat, realising that he probably had offered no words to Mirin’s predicament. It was a weird thing, talking to your ex about your current wife. It made him feel like he really shouldn’t be here somehow. “Yeah, that’s her, and it’s great.”

He wasn’t even going to bother masking the awkwardness of the subject.

And Mirin wasn’t going to let up.

“Is she… good to you?”

Good was an understatement. Sae thought you were phenomenal. You didn’t harbour any ill intentions toward him even though he deserved it. You didn’t treat him any harsher like he did you. You were an angel among the living and he should have been grovelling for someone like you but instead you’d been served on a silver platter and Sae knew all of that now.

The difference between how he would’ve treated Mirin before and after you appeared was enough proof of what, or who, he really wanted.

“She’s the best,” he answered honestly, and he felt just slightly bad when Mirin’s expression dropped. Something told him that she was expecting something else. That was when Sae felt the need to draw the line. “And I don’t think she would appreciate it if she knew I was out with… you.”

Across the table, Mirin shifted in her seat, visibly uncomfortable with his tone. She recognised it; it was when he was about to break some bad news. It was always directed to someone else but never to her.

“Listen, I’m sorry you’re going through all of this, really I am,” Sae started, averting his gaze because he wasn’t actually good with words—but if he intended for this to be goodbye, then he had to. “But I don’t think it would be a good idea if we met alone anymore.”

On Mirin’s end, she didn’t want to give up. Sae had been the better part of her youth and she didn’t want to give up their entire relationship or friendship or whatever it is to some girl who had been unknown to her until she got back and realised Karasu had been invited to the wedding and not her. That must’ve been you, was it not?

So she had to play this smart. She had to, to keep this thinning line of relation between her and Sae. As long as it was still there, there had to be a shot for her, right?

“No, you’re right, I’d feel bad too, I just… I didn’t have anyone to turn to recently and—”

“It’s fine,” Sae cut in, mainly because he didn’t want to have to hear her voice break anymore. It was clear cut in his head what they couldn’t be, what he didn’t want them to be anymore. Because he wanted that with you, or at least try at it. “I know Karasu’s been busy lately what with owning his first hotel and all but… Oliver’s a pretty good listener once you get to know him more, and Otoya… you know what, just stick with Oliver—he’s a better guy than he seems. And his family’s full of lawyers too so you guys might have a lot in common.”

Mirin could feel her whole world breaking into pieces right in front of her but there was no such thing as defeat in her dictionary. All she had to do was retreat and come back twice as strong, otherwise she might lose Sae for good.

So she nodded, as though she cared for who or what his friends could do for her. Sae was the only one she wanted to be around—that night at the karaoke room was just a failed attempt, that was all.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll take your word for it,” Mirin smiled through her pain, fingers fisting at the hem of her dress. He didn’t even bother to compliment her tonight, or say anything of substance. This was not the Sae she knew, and she wanted to bring him back.

That was why, that night when she got back home (and she was absolutely miserable at how Sae didn’t even offer to drive her back, instead just staying with her until she hailed a cab), she used everything at her family’s disposal to find out more about you. You and your family and Mirin wouldn’t stop until she found out what could possibly make you break.

If there was something Sae would want answers to, it was how he went from having not a single care in the world to give you, to giving you more than he ever even gave himself. He didn’t know if it even seemed that way to you, but it was.

After he got back that night, it was as though you’d constructed a wall between the both of you. Sae could feel you pulling away a little, and he didn’t know why—all he knew was that he didn’t want you to drift. He hadn’t even gotten that close yet, and he wanted to know more about you.

Was it a crime that he couldn’t express himself properly?

It was unfathomable how he was here in the kitchen in the middle of the day, trying to cook dinner for when you got back from meeting Reo. He frowned a little just upon remembering that. Was this jealousy? Only because he was sure by the way Reo was looking at you on your wedding day that there were some hidden feelings there.

On his part, for sure. For you? Sae couldn’t be sure. He could only hope not.

But he wouldn’t discount you from getting a divorce when he saw the mess he ended up making in the kitchen, especially that charcoal-stained wall behind the stove.

Fuck, was he really this bad at anything related to maintaining the household?

Fish was cooked to fuck so he couldn’t serve that anymore. Chicken got burnt on the grill because Sae couldn’t tell when it was done for the life of him. The only thing that was left was the soup and it was still boiling on the stove so at least not all was lost.

At that moment, Sae felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and immediately picked it up, moving himself to the balcony in case you got home early.

“Oliver, find anything out?”

Over the line, Oliver scoffed. “Saw the dad going to the bank, think he went to take whatever was in his safe deposit box. Mother was there too.”

Through the phone, Sae could still tell Oliver was smoking. He still remembered how much smoke would fill his car whenever he rode with him. There was a long pause as Sae tried to gather his thoughts.

“So, Itoshi Sae had a change of heart, huh?” Oliver’s teasing voice rang loud over the line.

Sae rolled his eyes, somewhat regretting asking the guy for a favour.

“What about Mirin? Still ditching her all the time?”

Sae wouldn’t call it ditching. He just… kept rejecting every single time she’d ask him out. Sure, she kept it in line with what he had told her last time, which was to not hang out alone, but Sae didn’t necessarily hang out together in a group either.

“You know, she—”

“Don’t care,” Sae interjected.

“Oh? Really? What if—”

“Don’t wanna hear anything about her, if you don’t mind.” And he was being completely honest. Sure, she kept responding to his stories and he was being nice by giving them a reaction, and sometimes she kept trying to text him although he barely gave any good responses—but that was the extent of their friendship right now, as far as Sae would allow it.

Oliver chuckled through the phone, hands up in surrender even though no one would see it. “Fine, have it your way.”

“Just tell me if you find anything else,” Sae muttered, completely exhausted from having to deal with anything related to Mirin and for once, Oliver was surprised.

“Aye aye, sir,” Oliver murmured sarcastically before hanging up.

The Sae he knew before you would never be caught dead trying to push Mirin away. Sighing, Oliver drove away, losing sight of your parents from his rearview mirror.

“Just don’t say I didn’t try to warn you, Sae.”

Maybe the tickets his parents gave him to celebrate the honeymoon in Korea was a huge blessing in disguise. From looking at you being excited all through the airport just because everyone had been calling you Mrs Itoshi and Sae had been addressing you as his wife, to actually landing in Incheon airport and watching you hop like a child—he thought maybe your earlier distance was just a phase.

Until, of course, you suggested that you both do solo trips.

To which Sae had been mostly deadpan, but not because he didn’t care—more like he was stumped. This was a honeymoon. For the both of you. Was this you trying to push him away? And if so, what for?

So Sae wasn’t going to let that get in the way. He didn’t outright reject your idea. But he could go along with it. You could go wherever you wanted to go, and Sae would tag along behind you.

He wasn’t going to let you wander around solo when you were supposed to spend time enjoying this foreign place together. And Mirin was especially not going to be able to guilt trip him into entertaining her while he was there by using their old plans against him.

When he tried to be her friend and texted her back with actual words for once, Mirin had somehow steered the entire conversation into dangerous territory; like how Mirin had once told Sae she wanted to visit Korea with him someday and that she asked if it was too much to still want to go.

Of course, he had said Oliver would be more than happy to take her there (to which she had sent a sad face that he happily ignored). Still, it sucked when he was trying to find a balance between being a friend and learning to be a good husband.

So there he was, following you around shamelessly even though he knew you kept looking behind to make sure that he was, in fact, actually following you. Sometimes it was hard to keep his snicker in. You looked half in shock yet half relieved.

It was more enjoyable with you than he thought it would be. He had absolutely zero expectations, especially when he had heard so much about knowing people’s true nature once you go on a trip with them—but you were more than fine.

Sae was starting to silently thank his parents for forcing you together. He got to see your smiles way up close, and it was nice to keep you close to him, and he liked the way you smelled that he memorised your perfume when you went in to that makeup store earlier.

That was why when night came and the both of you got back to the hotel, Sae had been more than a little regretful that he had asked the staff to prepare an extra mattress. Was it bad he wanted to sleep with you?

In the end, he only shook his head and vanquished the question from his head. He didn’t want to risk making you too uncomfortable.

“It’s nothing, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Sae.”

And he watched as you walked away, wondering if your disappointment was all in his head.

The next few days of the honeymoon went well—until a flurry of notifications popped up while the two of you were playing on his phone; Oliver’s personal important ones mixed with Mirin’s loud ones in the group chat. He didn’t give one shit about the latter, but Oliver’s is what he couldn’t let you see. Not yet, anyway, when it was just based on a hunch.

“Hey Oliver, what is it?”

“They’re definitely fishy, my guy said they’d been moving money around, no idea where though.”

Sae spent that entire evening theorising with Oliver on what it could be—and by the time he came back in, you’d passed out in your bed, probably exhausted from walking too much that day. Somehow, it felt rewarding to be able to tuck you in, and maybe it was greedy but he kissed you lightly on the forehead before he shut the lights.

Yeah, he’d definitely protect you, no matter what.

But there was something he couldn’t understand somehow, when he thought everything was going fine—why were you distancing yourself again?

The last few days of the trip felt wrong, and especially the last night when he could hear you sniffling through the door. It worried him more than he was when it was Mirin, and if that wasn’t enough proof to himself that you were slowly becoming irreplaceable in his life then he didn’t know what was.

That was why he gave in and called the only person he knew who could help—Reo. No matter how much he didn’t want to admit it, after being your best friend your whole life, he would probably know best. Sustaining his own ego came last to him when it involved you.

“You better not have done something wrong to Y/N or I swear to god—”

“Hello to you too, Reo.”

Reo sighed, and Sae didn’t blame his hostile tone. You probably confided in him for everything and Sae was undoubtedly one of those things.

“So? What is it?” The purple-haired one’s reluctance to speak to Sae showed, and Sae had to swallow every bit of pride down because he had to ask.

Turned out, Reo was more than willing to share. Only because it was for you, he said. And Sae suddenly felt like an ass for feeling a pang of jealousy. Reo knew you in certain emotionally intimate ways that Sae had yet to learn; he knew what you wanted people to do when you were in different moods, he knew how you wanted to be treated.

That was why Sae couldn’t help himself.

“Reo, are you in love with Y/N?” Sae chose your name instead of calling you his wife—there was a part of him that felt possessiveness in this sense would make him sound like more of a douche than he already seemed to be.

“Relax, I’m not gonna steal her from you or anything,” he laughed, although Sae noted he didn’t answer the question. “But… just letting you know, she has a ton of other options.”

After Reo hung up, Sae stared at the open chat thread on his screen. A picture of you and Reo, making it seem like the two of you were kissing, sent to Sae from an anonymous number. More than questionable, and Sae had tiny specks of doubt before now—wasn’t it natural to be sceptical in situations like these? But now he knew it was stupid. It was stupid because if not Reo, then he should know you enough to trust you wouldn’t do such a thing.

Same as Sae.

Maybe there were things you weren’t ready to tell each other, but now you had the rest of your lives to do so. Sae sure as hell wanted to keep you for that long at the least. So that night he found himself promising you that he would stay, because it was the honest truth. He would stick by you no matter what. After all, he fell in love with you before he even knew it.

And maybe one day, he’ll have the guts to say it.

Just when Sae thought he had had enough troubles for a while, what with your parents showing him their true colours (whether you caught on to it or not)—life threw him another curveball. One in the form of his old flame, casually showing up at his doorstep even though he never once told her the address.

“Mirin? What are you doing here?”

And she was wearing that same old face of hers, the sad one, the one that looked like she was just seconds away from breaking. Normally Sae would entertain her like he did that one night, for old times’ sake, but he was beginning to feel bad intentions and this—his ex-girlfriend being in the house you two shared—was definitely something you would object to.

Instead of waiting for an invitation like a normal person, she barged in past Sae, helping herself to a seat by the island, head in her hands.

“I didn’t know where else to go, it’s just been getting worse,” Mirin was sniffling at that point, and Sae knew he was going to feel like a total ass, but he had to do what he had to do. She had mistaken his question as one of concern.

“I actually got an errand to run, so,” Sae lied through his teeth, dressed in a random oversized white tee and black shorts, though that didn’t stop him. He was genuinely sick and frankly, he was growing sick and tired of having to deal with someone who didn’t respect boundaries.

“Huh?”

“I gotta leave in a minute,” he muttered, going into the bedroom to grab a coat and his keys, slipping on his shoes afterwards at the entrance before turning to look up at Mirin. “Do… you wanna stay in here alone?”

Stumped, Mirin took a few seconds to form a proper response. “Um, no no, how about I run that errand with you? Two is better than one, right?” She was still smiling brightly, almost oblivious to Sae’s attitude.

Two was definitely not better than one, especially since all Sae intended to do was to drive around the block and come back when she was gone.

“Nah, it’s a personal matter, and I’m already late,” he said, sauntering out the front door, Mirin barely trailing behind before the door closed.

Once they were in the lift, Sae caught Mirin sidling up next to him, and he had to exaggerate his coughing just to get her to distance herself. As the icing on top of the cake, he turned on his phone screen just to let her see the wallpaper he put of the both of you back in Korea, that picture where the both of you dressed up in front of the palace. Just to make sure she knew where his head was at.

“Need me to call you a cab home?” He asked, because he would—anything to get her out of here because Sae just didn’t want to give her any space in his life right now.

Of course, Sae knew Mirin well enough to know she was probably seething inside because she came all this way for nothing, but she masked it with a smile. “No it’s fine, I’ll help myself.”

True to her word, she did. Sae watched the cab turn down the other side of the road through his side mirror, and he was relieved more than anything. To think, just months ago he would’ve given anything to have her back in his life.

In the cab, Mirin’s tears weren’t those of upset, but more towards those of contempt. Just what kind of a spell did you have Sae under that he would treat her, the love of his life, so cruelly? To her, you could never be perfect, not for Sae. Because it was her. He told her so, once upon a time. In fact, how dare you get the dream honeymoon with Sae that she always wanted?

And even though she didn’t get much time with him today (because of course he was still acting up), she smiled to herself as she scrolled through her photos. She got what she came for, at least. A few pictures she took, both before and when Sae came out of the room.

Swiftly, Mirin went to her profile and posted a story—anything that seemed suspect enough would be fine. All she needed was a little luck and for the universe to propel you to look at her profile. Creating misunderstandings would just be the building block of you and Sae’s downfall, and then everything else would be easy peasy. Sae wouldn’t even stop her anyway—he unfollowed her a while ago. Whatever.

Yeah, everything would go her way just like it always did. Making Sae pine for her for so long couldn’t possibly be erased by someone such as yourself. Besides, if all else failed, Mirin already found out what she needed to about your family. If all else failed, she’d make sure to take you down.

Was it all in his head?

You seemed a little more inquisitive than usual, and it looked like you were biting your tongue. Did you have something to say that you were afraid to?

“You can tell me anything if you ever need to, okay?” It was more to assure you that nothing you could ask him would ever be too much or too invasive because he honestly didn’t know what it could be—but you didn’t take it.

Was it a sensitive subject?

The entire time you were gone, he spent his time at home ignoring Oliver’s calls and mulling over the decision in his head; the decision to tell you everything that was going on with Mirin. It was getting too much, and he couldn’t tell what was going on in her head anymore—it was like he never knew her.

And… he owed you that, at the very least. You had been nothing but an angel to him, and you’d never been petty or vindictive and you were perfect. Just perfect.

Despite being surrounded by people like Oliver and Otoya who wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about it if they were in his shoes, and being brought up by people who lacked any sort of love for either of their sons, Sae knew that he had to tell you before it was too late. Before Mirin started sinking her claws into you and drove you crazy—being how she was right now, he wouldn’t put it past her to do that. Call it a gut feeling.

If she could just show up wherever she wanted impulsively, plus the amount of information she could get her hands on thanks to her father’s contacts, who knew what else she could do?

But speak of the devil and it shall show up at your door, because minutes later, instead of opening the door to your beautiful face and warm smile, Sae got only a sinister feeling.

“What do you want?”

This time, he didn’t bother hiding his disdain for seeing her anymore. She had been proving time and time again that she was only out for herself, and that was not the person Sae once loved.

She may as well be a stranger now.

Her frown lined her features, the furrow of her brows more defined than ever. Her expression was halfway between disbelief and upset. “Are you really going to treat me this way, Sae?”

“I thought we could still be friends, and that was stupid of me,” Sae said, being openly honest with her for once. “But we can’t.”

With her hand on the door as he tried to close it on her, Mirin was determined to keep it open. She wasn’t about to come all the way here for nothing again. Besides, she’d been posting conspicuously for days—surely now was a good time as ever to drive the wedge deeper between the two of you?

“Why? Because your petty wife won’t let us?”

Sae had never had to force his voice down as much as he had to right now. “Don’t you… ever say anything against her.” He turned on his heels, ready to get his coat and force her out of there until he heard the familiar clack of her heels storming in after him.

“You’re not seriously choosing that second-rate over me?” She spat, fists clenched at her sides, her purse thrown on the floor.

Silence was all he could give her because nothing that would come out of his mouth would be merciful. You were the most innocent of all and yet your name was getting dragged through the mud just because Mirin couldn’t wake up and realise that she was the only reason they drifted in the first place.

“Get out.” Soft. Simple. There was nothing else Sae had to say to her.

Mirin shook her head, adamant on seeing this conversation through to the end. She wasn’t going to leave until she got what she wanted. “You’ve seriously got a screw loose if you’re choosing that cheating whore over me.”

Sae’s head whipped over to glare at her, his self-control coming in extra handy tonight. He narrowed his gaze, the realisation dawning upon him.

“You were the one who sent that picture of her with Reo, weren’t you?” A redundant question; he didn’t need her to answer.

Judging by the triumphant smirk on her face, she didn’t need to say a thing. “Oh, I have a lot more where that came from,” she chuckled, sounding a lot like a villain out of a fairytale. Slowly, she inched closer to him, “come on, if she can have her fun, we can have ours, can’t we?”

Lunging forward, her lips connected with his as she caught him off guard, her arms wrapped around his neck, taking him a few seconds to pry off. Sae wasn’t even spared a second before she tried again, but he swerved this time, and she could only scoff.

“Are you fucking nuts?”

“I’d be careful with how you speak to me if I were you,” she threatened, and Sae was about to offer a rebuttal until she took her purse and shoved some documents in his hand. “This is what you had Oliver investigate, right?”

Sae swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked over them. It wasn’t what he asked of Oliver. This was way more in depth and way more messy than Sae had thought it was. There must’ve been an ongoing investigation that he wasn’t aware of. Either way, how did she—

“It was easy enough to steal it from him,” Mirin mused, straightening up. “It wasn’t his fault, I nicked it while he was asleep.”

Sae didn’t even want to think about the context of that situation. What was even more perplexing was how proud she sounded of it.

Taking a deep breath, he collected himself, making sure to hold onto the documents. Mirin grinned slightly, realising his intentions. “Don’t worry, I made sure to make copies,” she told him, winking.

“What do you want?”

“To talk. About everything. Or else I call for an official investigation into that.”

On one side, Sae felt that everything that had to be said was already said and done. On the other, Mirin wanted so desperately to hold onto the only thing she had been sure of at one point in her life that nothing was going to stop her.

It wasn’t like he had a choice—there was no way he was going to let her storm through your life like that. If there was a chance he could talk some sense into her, he had to try.

“Fine, give me a minute.”

Retreating to the bathroom to wash his face and get her damned lipstick stain off—something he no doubt would have to tell you about later because this has blown way out of proportion—he was almost done until he heard Mirin introducing herself and his heart sank.

Fuck, were you back already?

It wasn’t hard to tell you were completely taken aback by Mirin’s presence in the house. And if Sae had his way, he would tell you everything right here and right now but with the knowledge she held over your family, he wasn’t sure it was a wise idea to tip her over the edge right now. Her threat still loomed over him.

Sae hated how she could take advantage of the situation and just make it seem even more suspicious—just how long had she been at this? He really should’ve just warned you about Mirin a long time ago.

“Do you trust me?”

“I don’t know, Sae. Can I?” For the first time, there was nothing but crisp coldness in your voice.

It stays with him even after he leaves, even when he follows Mirin to the bridge overlooking the waterfront. He’s decided; after tonight, there will not be any ties between him or Mirin, not after he actually witnessed how toxic she could get.

“This is far enough,” Sae tells her, stopping himself right before the row of shophouses that line the underside of the bridge. “What do you want from me?”

Mirin chuckles helplessly, caught between knowing everything she’s doing is futile and wanting to try anyway. “Are you kidding me, Sae?” The tears are already streaming down her face, and Sae is mostly just in awe of how quick she can go from menacing to heartbroken. “What do you think?”

He’s more than aware that there are a lot of unresolved things between the two of them—but that doesn’t change the fact that what Mirin wants, he can’t provide her with anymore. His silence is indicative enough that she can’t get her way no matter what she does. But in the face of someone she’s wanted her whole life, in the face of the only person she’s ever truly been genuine with in this lifetime, she finds that she can’t just accept that.

“You can’t tell me that I mean nothing to you,” Mirin murmurs, and it’s so quiet that Sae wonders if he was even meant to hear it.

On a normal day, Sae would feel sorry for her. They used to be a pair of lovebirds who planned out nearly their whole life together a long time ago. But she lost that right, she lost his sympathy the moment she started being exactly like her mother and trying to tamper with your life.

But maybe his hostility wasn’t a good way to deal with her, looking at all the backlash she’s caused, so Sae tries a different approach this time, even if he’s not particularly in the mood to be nice to her after all the trouble she’s caused.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” It’s partly true. Even if he didn’t do anything in particular, he imagines it must’ve been a shock to her when she came back to Japan and the guy who had claimed to want to wait for her had suddenly been married off. (But he wasn’t sorry for throwing her invitation away—to a certain extent, he felt that you didn’t deserve your future husband having such a distraction in the crowd. At the time.)

“Sae, I know you still love me, I know we can work this out, okay? Just give it a shot. Leave her and we can—”

“I can’t do that,” Sae cuts in, sighing because this is the few times in his life that his inability to express himself has led to inconveniences of this magnitude.

“Why? Whatever she or your parents have on you I’ll—”

“No, Mirin, I can’t because I love her,” Sae says, looking Mirin in the eyes and breaking her heart all over again. But he’d do anything for you, and right now all he wants is to go back to you. He wants to be with you and hear your cute laugh and tease you because you’re all he can ever think about nowadays. “I’m sorry but… I love my wife, and I’m not going to leave her, or let anything happen to her.”

Maybe it’s the absolute vulnerability that she can hear in his voice that makes her believe it. Sae doesn’t say things like that so easily, and maybe it’s the way she can see his eyes tearing up that she can tell it’s genuine no matter how much she doesn’t want it to be. He’s worried and in love and feeling overwhelmed. But Mirin’s not in the right state of mind and she fights back instead of admitting defeat.

“What about promising you’d wait for me, huh? What happened to that?”

By now, Mirin’s airing all her grievances, and Sae understands that enough to let it slide.

“I did, but we grew apart, didn’t we? You dated other guys, refused to try with me while I was still…” He avoids saying it.

“All the things we said we’d do together once we could finally have time to ourselves! Travelling, raising pets, picking out a house and going furniture shopping together, building a family because ours sucked,” she’s sobbing and Sae has to ignore the stares they’re getting from the few people that pass by.

“I still want that—”

“Then why—”

“With my wife.” He emphasises on this, and he’ll repeat it as many times as he needs to. “With Y/N. Her, and no one else.”

It’s his absolute indifference towards Mirin that jars her, because in this world, he was the only one she could count on, and now even that was gone. And right now, all she feels is hatred for you, for the one who stole him from right under her nose.

“Even if I tell you I’ll raze her whole family to the ground?” Mirin threatens with a scowl, igniting the combativeness inside of him.

Sae scoffs, shaking his head in disappointment. Nothing is going to get through to her. Not like this. He stuffs his hands in his pocket, “you can try, but I’ll be right there defending her with everything I got.”

Those teal eyes that used to look at her softly than they had anything else, his soft locks that she could once twirl her fingers through—they now belonged to you. They belong to you and they’re slipping away from her as Sae deigns to say any sort of goodbye, instead just walking off in silence as he tries to get back to you.

Ignoring Mirin’s cries of his name and the threats she’s hurling, he tries to call your phone but you’re not picking up—and that’s enough to make him run.

You’re not in the apartment, and some of your things are gone and since when did he even start to take notice of small little things like your favourite face towel that hangs on the side of the sink or your trusty furry headband that you liked to use hung beside the mirror? Those small little things are missing and for once, Sae’s afraid.

“Come on, pick up pick up,” Sae mutters under his breath as he drives around the neighbourhood, hoping he’d catch you somewhere. He ignores the string of calls he gets from Karasu, only to call him back when he gets a text: oi, pick up, idiot. your wife just booked a room here, you guys ok?

Thank god for coincidences like this or else Sae would’ve spent the entire time you were away wallowing in agony (silently).

It’s easy enough to find you after that, his feet running the most it has in a while—his ankles hurt and his knees feel weak, especially where they’re injured, but you’re worth every injury he has to make. And his heart does somersaults when he finally lays eyes on you, but then it plummets to the ground when he hears the word divorce.

Minutes later you’re running away from him, and he chases after you again—he’ll chase you however long he has to because this is all one big misunderstanding and he has to clear it up because he needs you in his life. Right now and forever. Just like he vowed to you on your wedding day.

The entire night has been a rollercoaster of emotions, and it was naive of Sae to think it was done because the next thing he knows, he sees Mirin throw a half-empty cup of yoghurt at you (along with her vile insults), and your face is absolutely dazed.

Shit. This is all his fault and he’s really, really sorry to you.

WHERE WE LEFT OFF

The walk back to your hotel suite is deafeningly silent.

Subtle lavender fills your noses as you enter the hotel lobby, though you can’t get the smell of greek yoghurt out of your nostrils.

You wonder where Karasu took Mirin to.

Not that you care about her. You just want to make sure you don’t see her. If you do, you might actually slap her.

You’re not sure if you want to try and fight her lawyers. Not sure if you want to give her reason to lord over you. At least, not as much as she did you.

When you enter the lift, you realise that Sae’s been unrelentingly close to you. His arms always brush against yours because he won’t leave so much as a gap between the two of you. Like he wants to catch you if you run.

Not in the creepy way, though. Not to you.

His hair is still slightly matted to his face; must’ve been the result of chasing after you. You’re a little perplexed, and you’re a little strict with yourself—you can’t back down later when you’re questioning him, and you have to remind yourself of this.

Because this marriage isn’t surviving another day if you don’t understand their… relationship.

Surely you’re not just being completely illiterate, right?

From what you’d been told, Sae and Mirin were each other’s first loves. That isn’t what you’re pressed about though, because he could so easily think the same about you and Reo, if the roles were reversed. What you are still pressed about is whether Sae’s intentions still hold true: is he still waiting for her? For the right time to be with her?

His earlier confession still repeats itself in your head. It could just as easily be a complete lie. You don’t want to hold onto it for fear of being disappointed.

Sae had been waiting for Mirin before the arranged marriage thwarted his plans. He had refused to give you any sort of acknowledgement as his actual wife until, well, your honeymoon, you guess. And even then, you still saw Mirin talking to him. Even then, he had to make suspicious calls in the night.

The worst part is when you saw her happily posting in your house. In the apartment where it’s supposed to be for you and your husband yet your husband and his former lover were in there when you were out working.

The moment you enter the suite, you toss his coat on top of one of the chairs and retreat to the bathroom, more than eager to change out of your Mirin-stained clothes.

Your husband’s waiting awkwardly outside the bathroom door by the time you get out, hands in his pockets, sheepishly averting his gaze as though he has the right to be the one acting nervous right now.

He takes a seat beside you on the bed, although you want nothing more than to just have time to yourself right now. On Sae’s part, he’s usually an advocate for this. He would’ve let you be alone any other time but right now. Because he feels that if he lets you, he’d lose you.

And this is selfishness in a way he hasn’t experienced and he doesn’t know why but he knows that he needs you with him.

“How many times?”

Sae finds himself stumped at your question. Your voice is quivering, but you’re trying to stand your ground. “Of what?”

For a change, you’re the one with the firm, demanding voice and he’s the one sounding meek. But for all your hostility, you still let him hold your hand. It makes Sae want to hold onto hope.

“How many times have you cheated on me?”

“What?”

He’s anticipated many things from you, many questions about his history and why you saw him the way you did earlier that night, but consider him stumped when he heard the words fly out of your mouth.

Cheating?

Have you been in agony over such a question all this time?

And suddenly he feels an overwhelming amount of guilt wash over him. Sure, he’s known that he would be bad at these things, at communicating when it’s not a sport, at understanding your feelings, at being a damn husband in a marriage that he initially loathed. But he didn’t know it would be this bad, that he would’ve made you feel this insecure.

Right now, you’re seething, and rightfully so because he must’ve done so many things wrong to make you think that way, to make you feel so sure of it too.

You’re still waiting for an answer, fists clenched at your side, the familiar mirth in your expression that Sae’s grown used to is tucked away safely in a place you don’t want him to reach.

“Well? Tell me, because I don’t want a marriage where I’m constantly a second choice. How many times have you—”

“I didn’t, I swear.”

The words come out of him in a hurry; there’s a flurry of emotions inside him, mainly one of fear—since when did he become afraid to lose you? It wasn’t something he was consciously aware of and yet it’s surfacing right now. He doesn’t want you to think that way anymore, that he’d do anything behind your back that would far disgrace your status as his wife.

It takes you a while to collect your thoughts, because Sae can see your shoulders relaxing, your fists unclenching. Your brows are furrowed, and he knows it’s because you’re afraid to just trust him. With good reason.

“How can I believe that?”

Your voice has lost its earlier edge, and now all that remains is the fragments of your hope—hope that somehow you can make it through this. Together.

Sae takes a step forward, daring to pull you into his arms, his mind filled with just you you you. Like it has been for a bulk of the time recently.

“I’ll tell you what you wanna know, anything.” He’s aware it doesn’t come close to the damages done, but he’ll try. He’ll try for the rest of his life if he has to.

“Everything. Tell me everything.”

And everything it was.

Sae answered everything you wanted him to, no holds barred. Mostly it was everything about Mirin, because that’s what’s been bugging you the most. And it was a lot. Somehow, you believe him, every single word.

He was stupid for keeping it to himself, yes. But you kept Reo and that picture to yourself too, and maybe you can understand why he had initially been afraid to say anything.

You’re both sitting on the bed, facing each other, Sae’s voice nearly cracking from all the talking he’s been doing. His hand slowly reaches out to yours, the tension in his shoulders letting go when your fingers grasp onto his. Can he take that to mean you don’t completely hate him?

“I’m really, really sorry,” Sae says, softly, gazing at the mattress because he still doesn’t even know if he deserves your acceptance. “I really do love you, Y/N, and I don’t want a…” divorce.

Is it because you’re too nice that you already want to forgive him? It’s all just a domino effect that got way too big. Still, you can’t make this a habit, so you stand your ground.

“I just… I want this to be a marriage where we can be open and completely honest with one another,” you say, lost in your thoughts, knowing that you’re not completely innocent yourself, and ashamed even more to know that Sae had known about the misleading picture of you and Reo all along yet choosing to trust you wholeheartedly anyway. “But I think there’s a lot of work we both need to do.”

Sae takes it hopefully. “Then we’ll do it, together,” he tells you, and it’s hard not to smile at how genuine he’s being.

But before either of you can say much else, there’s a quiet knock at the door.

“I��ll get it,” Sae offers, walking to the door and sighing once he looks through the peephole. He’s ready to ignore until the knocks come again. Opening the door, he sees a slightly timid Mirin. “We don’t have anything else to say to each other.”

Mirin doesn’t even look at him, just gazes past him at nothing. “I didn’t come to talk to you,” she says, before her gaze lands on you. “I came here to talk to her.”

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faerievampling · 3 months

Text

Homecoming

Part 2 of A Vampire's Courage. Can be read as a stand alone!

Summary: The Dark Urge and Spawn!Astarion, after having decided to remain friends, have been traveling together after the defeat of the Netherbrain. After finally sleeping together, Durge and Astarion have unfinished business. Smut and feelings ensue.

Word count: 4.2k

Link to Ao3!

Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x Female Durge

Warning: 18+, explicit. Violence. Blood. PiV. Vaginal Fingering. Cunnilingus. Blow Jobs. Inexperienced reader. Sixty Nine ;). Durge x Astarion being deeply in love.

A/N: This Durge also goes by Tav! happy valentines day :) im foaming at the mouth for patch 6. I hope y'all enjoy.

Astarion holds you for a while, only leaving to lie in his own bed after you’ve drifted off.

“That was the first time in ages you’ve slept through the night,” Astarion remarks once you wake. “We’ll have to do that more often, darling,” his tone was teasing.

The two of you traveled in silence for a while. It was peaceful, under the stars and the full moon. You didn’t know what you wanted to say to him, so you said nothing.

He had told you that you were special to him. But he could mean a million different things by that - couldn’t he? And of course you were special to him: you were the first person he ever trusted.

And to be fair, he hadn’t said anything either. You can’t help but wonder if he regrets it, if your eyes and ears deceived you and he really had just been up to his old ways.

Besides, you both had a job to do. You needed to focus.

“So, are you willing to sign?” The squat human asked; the contract lie in front of Astarion, who was still reading it over. “We are just quite ready for this little problem to be taken care of.”

Astarion did used to be a magistrate, but he hardly remembered his life before his undeath, so he was just pretending to read the contract. You both knew that if this man didn’t pay up, you would intimidate or charm him until he did.

Astarion had just wanted him to beg a little. With a sloppy mark, Astarion signed his name before handing the pen over to you. You scribble something resembling ‘The Dark Urge’.

“What an odd name,” the human remarks, giving you an awkward smile.

“A family name.” You smile back.

“Well, let’s get on with it then, my dear,” Astarion says to you before turning to the human. “We never return empty handed. We’ll see you when the job is done,” The two of you leave the man’s office; he was an assistant to the Mayor, who you could tell he was rather eager to please.

You clear your throat, trying to make sure you sound as normal as you could after last night. “So, any ideas on how to kill a Chimera?” You ask Astarion, hoping that maybe he will surprise you.

Astarion laughs. “Oh, Gods no, dear. Surely we should just cut off its heads, right?”

“As quickly as we can, I imagine.” You think you sound pretty normal. You sure hoped so, anyways. He sure did.

“So, you don’t really have a plan, is what I’m gathering.”

You sigh. “Not in the slightest.”

The battle with the Chimera went about as good as could be expected: you and Astarion kicked ass, as usual, but not without injury. You had quite the gash on your shoulder, which Astarion was insistent on lapping up once you got to a decent spot to camp.

Astarion had several protective camp items he could use to shield himself from the sun during the day: an enchanted tent and a music box that could hold constant concentration for casting a veil of Darkness. These were just some of your boons from adventuring as you searched for a permanent solution.

You felt the chill of his lips on your skin as he licked the wound clean. You wanted to tangle your fingers in his silver curls as he attended to you. The longer you two were in contact, the greater your heat was building up, and you could feel the slickness of your folds as the blood in your body rushed to your labia.

You could tell he was taking his time. The two of you had done this so many times before, but you couldn't help but feel how the pressure of his lips against your skin was softer, lighter, and he was moving his lips more than he usually did, like he was planting kisses on you.

This time, it undeniably felt more intimate, more erotic. Your heart was already racing from the contact, but gods was it fast now. You needed to say something.

“Alright, hurry up,” You say roughly, cursing at yourself for your choice of words; he relents, sticking a bandage on you and handing you a healing potion. You pop the cork of the bottle, drinking down the red liquid and instantly feeling warm all over. You would be fully healed by morning, thankfully; plus, the pain was already starting to subside, leaving you feeling greatly relieved.

But before Astarion says anything to you, he’s pulling you to your feet, his hand gripping yours with such strength it startles you.

“Someone’s coming,” Astarion whispers to you. “It’s several people. Smells like the villagers.” The two of you exchange looks of confusion before the picture comes into view.

There is a group of armored men approaching you; you and Astarion immediately go into a defensive stance. Typically, you would be in front and Astarion would be in the shadows, but this time he stands in front of you.

You realize you are only in your bra, since Astarion had been tending your wound.

“Trying to protect my modesty?” You ask with a huff, but Astarion only growls at the men in response.

“One step closer, and I won’t hesitate to kill you,” Astarion sneers at the men, who stop in their tracks. You kind of wanted to see it, secretly.

“You’d really protect that monster? That Bhaalspawn,” A man spat the word from his mouth, and you knew why they were here. “I could never forget your face. I doubt you even remember mine. You killed so many at the Slaughter of East End, my family along with it.”

‘East End’. Didn’t ring a bell.

”I was able to run but you got to them!” The man was screaming at you now, but you can only blink at him over Astarion’s shoulder.

“Maybe they should have run faster,” Astarion barks. He can’t see the mist in your eyes.

“They are both monsters. Kill the elf and then the Bhaalspawn,” Someone bellowed from the crowd, causing the men to chant in agreement.

A mocking voice rang through the night air. ”Burn her!“

That’s all the group of men could say before Astarion tore the throat out of one in the faceless crowd. You had intended just to defend yourself if need be and knock them out, but when Astarion pounced first, the men were destined to die.

You’re plunging a sword through the chest of a man when you hear another start to beg. Astarion’s laugher rings out against the last few cries of battle before quiet settles amongst the camp.

It takes a short while for the two of you to calm down. The blood of nearly a dozen men soaked the grounds of your campsite. The smell of copper overwhelmed an untapdoled (and thus less controlled) Astarion, and he had to get away from you for a while; he made sure you had your sending stone and your warding bond ring on, just in case.

You felt numb for a while, and when you finally felt Astarion’s hand on your shoulder, you weren’t sure how long you had been sitting on your shins in the blood soaked earth.

“He was right, you know. Even if I had seen his face, I wouldn’t have remembered it,” You say as Astarion helps you to your feet. He looks you over, scanning your body for injuries.

But your only injury is of the heart. Invisible, but maybe not to Astarion.

“You’re not being fair to yourself,” Astarion says, “Maybe you caused ruin in your past. But you aren’t the same person you were.”

“But do I not still deserve punishment?” You say, exasperated. “I feel like I do. Like I should pay for what I’ve done. There are some days where I can’t stop thinking about Alfira -“ Your voice cracks, and Astarion grabs your forearms as if he’s trying to hold you together, to steady you from your wavering fortitude.

“You’ve paid already, darling. You’ve saved the damn world! Isn’t that enough?” His eyes are pleading, because you know this isn’t just about you: Astarion’s own past was shrouded with victims.

“I don’t know,” is all you can say.

“Those men deserved to die, Tav.” His eyes were narrowed, his face shrouded with convicted vengeance. And despite your anguish, your guilt, those feelings subside a bit when you look into Astarion’s ruby eyes.

He’s nodding at you, further trying to affirm his words. You take a deep breath, nodding along with him.

“Let’s set up elsewhere. If we hurry, we’ll have time to set up at least one of the tents,” Astarion squeezes your forearms before bringing you into an embrace.

It was a welcome surprise, and you melt into him, a warmth from within you starting to spread throughout your body.

The two of you work hard to move the camp, setting up his sun-proof tent. You both make time to wash and put on fresh clothes; your wound from earlier is already healed, so you dress in fresh underclothes and camp wear.

As you see the sun peak over the horizon, you look to Astarion, realizing neither your tent, nor the enchanted music box, was anywhere to be found.

“I can’t find it, my tent or the music box,” You say, your tone more pleading than you would have liked. “You’re sure you grabbed them?”

“Yes, well, I think so, at least,”Astarion has a curious look on his face. “We don’t really need it though, do we?”

Oh. You knew what this meant; surely, surely, he is referencing his recent bedding of you.

“You want to share a tent?”

“We already do share a lot of things: resources, often a room, and last night, a bed.” Astarion has turned on the charm a bit, but his smile his warm, his eyes open and rounded, wet with anticipation.

You feel the blood rise to your cheeks.

“You can cast Darkness yourself, can’t you? That would be enough for you to freely come and go from my tent so you can tend to your…living needs.” Astarion flirted.

“But you wouldn’t be able to leave the tent. I can only cast darkness for about thirty seconds at a time, and I have limited energy.” You were babbling now.

“I know how your magic works, darling. But I won’t be needing to leave the tent,” Astarion steps closer to you, putting his hand on your waist.

You pause, getting lost in his ruby eyes. “So…you want me to keep you company?”

Astarion’s smirk softens, his eyes round and open to you. “Yes,”

You swallow. “The sun will be up for a while,”

Astarion chuckles lightly, so much softer than the last time you heard it. He brings a hand to cup your face, and now you finally understand what he may be asking of you. Astarion must see the realization in your eyes, and he brings his head down; you feel the sensation of his cool, soft lips as they press against your own.

His touch is so tender, you can’t help but melt into his palm. You feel like he’s holding you up now, carrying your weight.

“Worried you’ll get bored, darling? I promise you won’t be,” Astarion’s salacious voice is low and raw in your ear; it sends an urgent shiver through your body.

Astarion pulls you into his tent, and you are enveloped in him. His very presence lingered in the air, and you recognized the familiar smell of bergamot hanging in the romantic darkness.

The tent was spacious and had been enchanted to look like the night sky. You had seen it before, of course, but not with Astarion’s urgent hands on you.

His lips are on you, his tongue easing between your parted lips as he drinks you in. Astarion was an excellent kisser, likely much better than you, and you did your best to follow his lead. But his tongue dominated yours, and he gradually deepened the kiss as his dexterous fingers began to unlace your shirt.

You could sense Astarion’s desperation to see your breasts as he unhooked your brassiere.

You don’t know if you’ve ever seen him like this before, so ravenous for you. His lips trailed over your neck, to your chest, where he focused on your sensitive nipples.

You’re surprised when Astarion gets on his knees, his tongue circling the tip of your breasts while his pretty lips wrap around the swollen bud.

You see the light of the enchanted full moon reflect off of Astarion’s eyelashes as he bats them at you, causing you to gasp at the sight.

One of his hands is squeezing your other nipple, and the other is gripping the curve of your ass; Astarion groans against you, his fangs grazing your skin. You feel the pressure of the prick as they bite down, just enough to avoid breaking your skin.

You’re focused on Astarion’s rapid breathing and whimpers as his arms snake around you, pulling you down to your knees to meet him at level.

“Tav, I-“ Astarion begins, but he can’t seem to keep his lips off of you.

“Astarion,” You say, but you trail off as his lips are on yours, tongue plunging into your mouth as he brings his hands to cup the sides of your jaw.

I love you. It was on the tip of your tongue. You think it may have been on his, too. You didn’t even know if you really understood the meaning, but you knew how innately the words came to mind when you thought about Astarion.

Astarion eases you on your back, his lips never leaving yours. He makes quick work of unlacing your trousers. But before he can pull them off of you, his desperation overwhelms him and he moves to unlace his own pants, releasing his swollen cock.

“Take yours off, your panties too,” His words are firm, yearning, and Astarion watches you intently as you lift your hips to pull off the rest of your clothes, leaving you entirely naked in front of him.

Astarion groans, breaking your kisses as he moves to grab your shins, spreading your legs wide. His eyes sweep over you, pausing at your exposed core. You realize it’s rather bright in the tent with the light of the full moon, and surely he doesn’t sleep under this light.

You wonder if he adjusted the magic so that he could see you better. And the little smile on Astarion’s face as he drinks in the sight of you, naked and spread for him, confirms your theory.

“I thought about you like this all day,” He says to you in a raw voice. His hands roam your body, a hand tugging at a nipple while the other caresses your curves.

He shifts closer to you now, bringing you pelvis to pelvis, and his cock rests along your mound, the tip of which reaching just below your belly button.

“You have?” You whisper, your eyes wetting against your own protests. He begins to rub his cock between your folds, and you squirm at the pressure on your clit.

He dips down to press his lips to yours again, hand moving between your legs to your slick folds as he begins teasing you. “You’re all I’ve thought about, Tav.”

“Tell me what you want, my sweet. I want to give it to you.” Astarion whispers eagerly, and you realize just how undone he’s come: his curls are disheveled, brows furrowed with pleasure, full lips parted.

Astarion’s fingers explore you, his thumb circling your sensitive bundle of nerves as he eases a finger inside your entrance.

“I want to taste you,” You say, your eyes glued to his swollen cock. Astarion hums with approval, eager to please as he readjusts you both.

Astarion lies on his back, prompting you to get on your knees between his legs, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock.

You wanted to taste it, because you never have before; as you place your lips on his tip, gently kissing it, flickering your tongue as you do, you realize you don’t actually know what you’re doing.

Surely you’ve done this before. It seems familiar enough. Astarion looks through his lashes at you, watching as you tentatively handle his cock.

He tastes amazing: clean, cool, and you take him in your mouth as deep as you can, causing him to gasp.

“Sorry,” you murmur between your darling kisses. “I don’t really know what I’m doing,”

“Oh,” Astarion breathes, pondering this just for a moment before his focus is back on you. “Start by putting your lips around me. Go on, lover.”

Astarion watches as you follow his command, putting your lips around the girth of his cock. You start to move your tongue, swirling it on his skin as you’re already sucking just a bit.

“Yes, my sweet, oh-“ Astarion moans, his hand moving to your chin just to caress you, to touch you, to know you are there and that it is you that engulfs him.

Astarion starts to buck his hips into your mouth, his hand moving from your chin to the root of your hair, holding you firmly in place as he starts to fuck your mouth. After a moment, he’s breathing heavily, and he releases you, ruby eyes boring into you, clear as day under the light of the enchanted moon.

“I need to taste you,” Astarion speaks, his voice low. “You trust me to make you feel good, Tav?”

You’re confused about why he’s asking you this: his precum was still on your chin, the taste of his salty seed still lingering on your tongue. He was delicious, of course, and you only wanted more.

“Yes,” you say as he brings himself up to kiss you again.

“I want you to bring your legs over my face, so that I can fuck you with my tongue while I stuff that sweet mouth of yours.” Astarion’s words are sultry, low and sexy, as usual, but his voice is firm, his words chosen in such a way so that you know exactly what he means to do with you.

Your eyes go wide at this. You’ve never heard of anything like that before, and you think it sounds complicated. But, you hadn’t lied when you told him you trusted him: so you nod.

“You’ll have to tell me what to do,” Your words are heavy on your throat, thick with anticipation.

“I certainly have no problem telling you what to do, my darling,” Astarion purrs, causing you to quiver with anticipation.

Your cunt, so slick and desperate for more, throbs with desire as Astarion puts his hands on you, guiding you to position his head between your thighs, exposing the heat of your core to him as you face his cock.

Astarion let’s out an audible sigh of relief as he wraps his arms around your waist, bringing your cunt straight to his mouth; the sensation is heavenly, the angle of the position has your clit and folds fully exposed, resting in his mouth as he takes worship in you.

His tongue teases your folds before dipping between them, hungrily lapping at your entrance; you feel used as your juices begin to drip down your thigh.

The vibration of Astarion’s little moans tease you, causing you to settle into him further.

You bring him in your mouth, trying to bob your head to give him pleasure, but you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of his tongue spearing between your folds, your walls, tasting your depths before sweeping over your swollen clit.

You can’t focus on your movements any longer, as Astarion’s motions send shockwaves of pleasure through your body. As his expert tongue focused solely on your swollen nub, you go totally lax.

Before you know it, you’re moaning with Astarion’s cock still in your mouth, despite your orgasmic paralysis. You feel your rumble of ecstasy rise up within you, and you’re hoping you aren’t gushing too much as you spasm around his tongue.

Suddenly, Astarion grabs the back of your head, pushing you down on his cock, stroking your mouth. You’re still writhing in utter euphoria and creaming in his mouth as he takes you.

Once you’ve come back down from your high, your body is still lax. You’re thankful Astarion is so strong and doesn’t have to breathe, because you’re dead weight atop him.

You muster the strength to roll off of him, and he works to place himself on top of you, between your legs. Facing him now, you see the evidence of your orgasm in his eyes and on his face.

His nose, lips, chin, were soaked in your come, his pupils blown with lust at your scent.

You feel your walls stretch as Astarion inserts two fingers inside you, prepping you for the girth of his cock. His intrusion only makes your cunt salivate more.

When he’s satisfied with your stretch, he starts to sink into you.The pressure of his cock makes you gasp, and Astarion cups your jaw, guiding your eyes to him.

He’s saying your name like a prayer. “Oh, Tav, Tav, my sweetest girl, my love.”

Once his mouth finds yours, his kisses are fervent, passionate, matching the slow pace of his strokes. His tongue is so soft, and he tastes so good with your come on his lips that you’re already primed to give him more.

He pumps in and out of you, stretching your walls to his girth until you are perfect for him before his thrusts start to quicken.

You feel him putting more strength behind his thrusts, inserting himself deeper within you until he’s bottomed out.

“Gods, Tav, you’re unbelievable,” Astarion purrs in your ear. Finally, he’s fully inside you, and he can’t help it anymore: he strokes you, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix, so deep you’re brought into a delirium of pleasure.

You heave in his mouth as he eases his tongue between your parted lips. Your stretched walls start to contract around his cock, and you’re coming on him again before you even realize.

Your hands grab at his curls, trail lightly over his back: you’re careful not to be harsh with that sensitive part of him. But you needed to caress him, to feel his body beneath your palm.

As your body spasms beneath him, you feel entirely fucked out, your body going lax again in his hands. Astarion made you so…pliant. You wanted him to be yours so desperately. Your hazy brain is ready to do anything for him.

Astarion’s thrusts become less calculated as he comes undone, and before you even realize, Astarion is moaning your name as his balls contract, spurting thick ropes of come deep inside you.

It takes a moment for you both to come back to reality. Astarion rolls onto his side, gathering you in his arms as he adjusts to ensure your shared comfort.

The coolness of him feels amazing against your skin, still hot from lovemaking.

“I love the way you feel against me,” You hum into his chest. After just a few beats, Astarion pulls away, easing himself up on his elbow to look down at you.

“I want to kiss you,” Astarion says with a swallow. “And I want to do it whenever I’d like.”

You pause, getting lost in his crimson eyes. “Y-yes, you may.” You stumble, but Astarion is smooth enough for the both of you.

He brings a finger to your chin, holding you in place as he presses a tender kiss to your lips. When he breaks away, he rests his forehead on yours, and you feel your heart thumping away in your chest.

“I don’t want anything to change between us. I just want to be able to do this with you. To kiss you when I like, to touch you when I like,” Astarion pauses, trying to ensure he gets all of his thoughts out. “And I don’t want you to do these things with anyone else.”

“I let you get away because I knew I wasn’t ready. I want to give you something real, but I couldn’t at the time,” Astarion kisses you again, so tenderly you feel a pang in your heart. And between your legs.

“But now, Tav,” He caresses your cheek, causing you to gasp a little. Astarion smiles a little before his face continues its serious, sincere expression. His eyes were wide, and he was bearing his soul to you.

His hand clasped yours.

“I want you. I’ve wanted you to be mine since the clearing.”

You’re speechless, heart fluttering at his words. You can only say what’s on your tender mind: “I think I love you, Astarion.”

A hand smooths your hair back, delicately, as if you are a precious thing.

“I love you too. But I know that I do. I want every part of you.” Astarion’s voice rumbles through you.

Your chest swells, and you feel like you’re bursting from within: it’s something you’ve never really felt before, but it felt distinctly like home.

Masterlist

Link to Part 1

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x female tav #astarion smut #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion x dark urge #astarion x durge #astarion x tav #happy valentines

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theanimeoftheblackbunnymask · 4 months

Text

Yandere Sabo Alphabet

Author's Note: I've deadass been off the rig for like, half a year. I'm lowkey sorry, at some point I forgot about this blog. My creepypasta blog kind of became my main and I wasn't watching anime fr, but I got back into One Piece and Sabo has stolen my heart-

Warnings: Emotional Abuse, Mental Abuse, Manipulation, Physical Assault, Guilt Tripping, Rape Mentioned, S/A implied, Deception, Mind Games, Sadism Mentioned, Burning, Injuries, Death, Two Faced Behavior, Jealousy, Amnesia Mentioned, and Being Held Captive.

Links: {Masterlist} {Alphabet Used}

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

He is very cuddly, I can say that the ASL brothers in general are very touchy people (especially Luffy.)

Since Sabo is often on missions, he doesn't get to see you as much as he'd like to, so when he does see you, he's hugging and kissing you at any chance he can get.

He also loves seeing you in his hat, it's the cutest thing to him.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

The thing is, Sabo is willing to kill for his darling, but I wouldn't say it's messy. I can definitely see Sabo killing a few people while on missions, so I'd say he's pretty clean with it.

Sabo isn't cruel, so he wouldn't kill them infront of you, but he'll definitely make you know that they're dead, and that it was by his hands.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Sabo is scary. He's charming, kind, and chivalrous to the max. He's pretty much every girls dream guy, and when you met him you probably fell for him hard.

Sabo is deranged and unhinged however, but he can hide it extremely well. Once you two started dating and you already went with him to the revolutionary army, that's when his strange behavior starts to slowly surface.

He'd never hit you on purpose, but sometimes his sadism get in the way. He never makes you aware of his true intentions, sometimes he's completely in love with you and your own little golden retriever, doing everything you say with no question, but sometimes when you two fight, he becomes a completely different person. I can see him sharing Ace's temper (despite him being the calmest and nicest brother)

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He is so manipulative its not even funny. Sabo loved playing mind games with you, he often tells you that you knew that he was like this, but you went with him anyway, so technically it's your fault your in this situation, which couldn't be further from the truth.

Sometimes he hates seeing you cry, but when you cry wuth rage in your eyes, yelling at him about how much he fucks with your head and how you can't even remember what really happened and instead you remember the false memories he told placed in your head, he can't help but chuckle.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

I don’t see Sabo being vulnerable with you at first. Most of the time he's vulnerable, it's often with Koala because he trustes that woman with his life, and they're pretty much best friends.

But I'd say the first time you saw him vulnerable was when Ace died. He had so many break downs in front of you and all you could do was try and comfort him the best way you could. Times like those really fuck with your head because Sabo is kind of holding you against your will, mentally and emotionally abusing you, and kind of an manipulative asshole, but the times he's genuinely a sweet guy who just wants to make you happy just pop into your mind and you can't help but hug him and tell him it'll be ok and that it wasn't his fault.

Sabo genuinely wants you to be happy, just his method of doing so is fucked up.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

It only adds fuel to the fire. Sabo is pretty patient for the most part and often wants your arguments to be as quick as possible. But, if you keep arguing and yelling at him, his patience runs thin, and that's when you see his Ace like temper.

You two could go at for hours, and he'll eventually just erupt into Flames (literally) and end up hurting you. He'd end up feeling terrible because Sabo never wants to hurt you (Physically of course), so he'd just stare at his arm, surrounded in Flames, before looking at your curled up position in the corner of the room, holding your arm as you cried in pain.

So yeah, try not to fight with him.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

If you escape, he's panicked. Losing Ace really fucked him up, so you leaving him is his biggest nightmare. If the world government knows about your existence, either as his S/O, or you were part of the revolutionary army before hand, or you were a pirate or something, that only makes his paranoia worse because you most likely have a bounty on your head.

He'd look for you everywhere, that man wouldn't sleep until he found you.

I feel like Sabo has developed a fear of forgetting, so he probably writes down everything that happens to him or other people in a diary of some sorts. So he'd write about each day he looked for you, doing anything he could if there was a rare chance that he would forget you.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

The two of you got into a really bad fight. Like, the worst one you two had ever had.

You were sick and tired of Sabo's lies, his manipulative behavior, and just all the bullshit he pulled on you. At first he was dismissing you, telling you that you were making a big deal out of such a small issue, but you kept pressing him and telling him to stop down playing his actions.

Eventually he started arguing back and things got even more heated, and when he got too close, you punched him right in the face. When you realize what you did, you slowly started to back up as Sabo placed his hand on his face in shock. You've never hit him before, ever.

He started at you in silence before slowly making his way towards you.

"I-I’m sorry, I didn't mean to..." You say over as over again as you backed yourself into a corner, your hmeyes tearing up as he got closer.

He'd grab both you wrist in one hand, causing you to yelp in pain as you cried further. He only started at you with cold eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... please..." You mumbled, you legs almost giving out as you shoot.

He'd then grab your chin roughly, ans then kiss you. But it wasn't a rough kiss, but a gentle and genuine one. It wasn't like the ones he'd give after not seeing you for weeks on end, but it was different, it was kind. It caught you off guard, why was he so gentle?

But eventually you leaned into it, closing your eyes in the process. He eventually loosened his grip on your wrist, but you didn't feel his hand slowly make it's way to your neck.

"I'm sorry, love..."

Then, his grip tightened as you felt burning sensation on your neck. Before you could scream, Sabo smashed his lips against yours, grabbing the back of your head so you couldn't break away.

Your legs gave out in that moment, and Sabo went down with you. You were practically screaming into his lips, it hurt so fucking bad. So, he shoved his tongue in your mouth as a way to muffle your screams. His hands weren't on fire, but he heated them up so they would burn your neck.

When he pulled his lips back, a long trail of saliva connecting your lips, he quickly covered your mouth as he stared to your pained face.

"I'm sorry," He'd say, wiping the spit away before kissing your tears as you slowly passed out from the pain.

When you wake up in the morning, you don't remember a thing. But when you touch your neck and feel bandages, memories start to flood back to you as you cry into the pillow. Sabo was sent on a mission the same day you woke up, so he was long gone before you woke up. But, he felt fucking awful for what he did.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

World government taken down, his book published, and you two living happily together.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Sabo gets jealous a lot easier than he would like to admit.

When he's jealous, he gets a lot more touchy and often makes back handed remarks about said person.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

When Sabo isn't manipulating you or the two of you a arguing, he's a fucking golden retriever boyfriend. Follows you around, is at your beck and call and will do pretty much anything you want, crazy affectionate, and loves to tease you. If it wasn't for his manipulative and abusive behavior, he pretty much acts like a normal boyfriend.

This also plays a key part on why Sabo is so good at manipulating you. The way he treats you the majority of the time, this kind loving boyfriend, makes you fucking think you're crazy. Like, didn't he guilt trip you into sleeping with him last night? But hey, he gave you the best aftercare of you life, and he got you that jacket you kept looking at when the two of you went shopping. So it wasn't that bad, right?

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Sabo would pretty much go up to you and just start being his charming self. Sabo is extremelylikeable, and he'll get you to blush and laugh a few times. Eventually, he'll start sending love letter to you if you're a pirate or a normal citizen, but even if your part of the revolutionary army, he'll still send you little love letters.

He'll get you gifts and even offer to pay for your drinks if you two ever went out for a drink.

I'm telling you, if you're his darling, you fell in love with him before he started to abuse you.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

When he's upset, yes. Sabo can be pretty unhinged when fighting, but that's about it. When the two of you are just living normally, no fighting or anything, he goes back to the Sabo you fell in love with.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Sabo doesn't actively punish his darling. He actually let's you get away with escaping. But, he does get physical when you piss him off, so that's your punishment.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

You can do everything besides escaping, and telling anyone about his abusive behavior. He'd be so fucking pissed if he found out that you told someone.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Very patient. He had to deal with Luffy and Ace growing up. Luffy's energetic, dumb behavior, and Ace's short tempered, rude behavior made him gain a lot of patience, even if he forgot them for many years.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If you die, its like Ace all over again. He's blaming himself, even if it wasn't his fault.

If you leave and or, escape, he's looking for you. He's not resting until he does.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

He didn't technically abduct you. If you weren't part of the revolutionary army and a civilian, you moved in with him, and when you tried to leave, that's when you realized you were pretty much a hostage.

If you're a pirate, that's when things get complex because if you're not a captain, that's something he'll have to deal with, but if you are a captain, I can't see you just leaving your crew for your boyfriend. So he'll figure something out.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

I feel like a mixture of trauma and the death of Ace.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

If you scream/cry, he'll try to comfort you the best he can. He wants to see that smile he loves so much.

If you isolate yourself after he was on a mission for weeks on end, he'll be pretty upset. He'll keep asking you what's wrong, and he won't stop bothering you until you tell him.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He's a controlling, manipulative yandere, but the amount of freedom and how you can pretty much get him to do whatever you want is kind of crazy. But he isn't stupid or blind, he'll know when you're taking advantage of him immediately, and that's when he shuts things down.

He's revolutionary afterall, he enjoys freedom, and even though he can't give you 100% freedom, or at least just yet, he'll give you the most he can, but not too much to where you'll leave him.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

His overprotectiveness. He's not only overprotective you, but his friends as well, especially Luffy.

It'd be hard to manipulate this, but if you play your cards right, you might be able to get him wrapped around your finger.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Yes, but not purposefully.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He kind of worships you, but also kind of doesn't. It's complicated. But he's willing to go hell and back to keep you safe.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

As long as it takes. Sabo is willing to wait a long time for you to love him blindly once again, even if it takes years.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yes. It wouldn't be on purpose. It could be a punishment taken too far, or just the mental abuse.

#yandere one piece #one piece x reader #yandere one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #sabo x reader #sabo x you #sabo x y/n #Yandere Sabo #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x darling

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crusty-chronicles · 4 months

Text

Stubborn

Synopsis: In which our two favorite demons tend to and scold Reader for being careless during a fight. Separate drabbles btw

Kurama 🦊🦊🦊

The first thought that crosses his mind is one of anger. How dare that feeble demon even think to put it's hands on you. The next is that there's blood. So much blood seeping from the wound on your side. The decision of what to do is made without hesitation. He wasted no time rushing to your side. Lifting up your shirt slightly to heal the wound.

The others would take care of the fleeing demon. For now, his top priority was you. Making sure you'd be okay. But apparently that wasn't how you saw it. Pushing his hands away with the little strength you had.

“I'm fine. Don't worry about me. You should go after that thing with the others,” you tried to sway.

As if your life wasn't more important.

Like he didn't cherish you more than anything.

His gaze hardened, maneuvering you on your back to get a proper look at your wound. Summoning his spirit energy in his palm and pressing it firmly against your side.

“You'd think of me so callous as to abandon my injured lover?” He questioned.

His accusation temporarily shocking you.

“No but-” ‘you shouldn't be wasting your time with me.’ you wanted to say. But you were cut off before you could finish.

“Then there's nothing more to discuss. When I'm finished, we'll go right back home. Yusuke and Kuwabara are more than capable of handling this by themselves.”

You once again shifted around, trying to get him to stop. The case came first. It should've come first. Not you. You were hurt, but wouldn't die from it. It was pointless wasting energy on something you could manage with on your own. Kurama shouldn't be focusing on you when there was still an important mission at hand.

He gave you a glare and that was all it took to have you stilling.

“Why must you insist on being difficult? Don't you know that I'll choose you every time? I'll always choose you over any fight, any mission, any person. No matter what, it's always you, so sit still and let me heal you.”

—------

Hiei ⚔️⚔️⚔️

Impulsive, impulsive, impulsive.

He sees red the second your body hits the floor and you struggle to get up. A dark crimson trailing down your forehead.

Damn whoever hurt you, and damn anybody who dared get in his way.

He quickly slays the one responsible for your injury. Not even giving them enough time to process what's happening before it's over. When that's taken care of, he makes his way over to you. Shooing the group of your friends away so he can inspect your injuries himself. Despite the protests from a certain troublesome reaper.

“Let me see.” It's more of an order than a request.

But instead of complying, you turn your head and try to stand. Trying your best not to make a big deal out of nothing. Only for Hiei to shove you back down.

“I'm okay. It's just a scratch.” You brushed off, but he wasn't convinced in the slightest. Moving to wipe off the blood from your forehead.

You grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“Don't. It doesn't hurt, so leave it. And anyways, you shouldn't have killed that guy. He needed to be brought in for questioning.”

Your words only further irritating the three eyed demon.

It seems you didn't quite understand the importance you held in his life.

He would have slayed thousands for even looking at you wrong. And here you were defending some cretin who'd committed an offense that was deserving of a fate worse than death. Sometimes he hated that human heart of yours.

“Shut up. You don't get to run your mouth after being so foolish.” He scolded. Moving to heal your injury with his spirit energy. He didn't do it often, but you were always a special case. You were special.

Yet you continued to try and avoid his help.

“I'm fine!”

“Argue any further and I'll put you to sleep myself. You think I care about some low life over you? You must have a concussion if you believe that.”

Then his next words were softer. For your ears only.

“Your life takes priority over anyone and everything, got that? You're mine, and any creature that dares lay a finger on you will have to deal with that consequence.”

----------------

#yu yu hakusho x reader #hiei yu yu hakusho #hiei x reader #yyh hiei #hiei jaganshi #kurama x reader #yoko kurama #kurama yu yu hakusho #shuichi minamino #x reader #drabble

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reginaphalange2403 · 1 year

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Experience

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You accidentally hurt yourself and Steve awkwardly has to help you out

Warnings: minor injury, angst/arguing, protective Steve rogers, enemies to lovers vibes kinda. pls read a/n

a/n: my first Steve fic! I hope I did him justice lol. Obviously most of this is not canon, so lets just pretend everyone in the mcu is alive and happy, cause that's how they are in my head anyway :D also, this is kinda goofy but I guess I was in a goofy mood so here we are.

“Alright, I buddied you all up in pairs for the hotel rooms” Tony announced as the 7 of you all gathered in the lobby of the hotel he had booked. You had just finished up with a mission in Chicago, but ended up having to stay the night there so that you could appear at a press conference the next morning.

“Really Tony?” You glared at him, “You’re a billionaire and you couldn’t splurge this once so we could each get our own room?”

“Just cause I have money, doesn’t mean I don’t like to save,” he quipped, “besides, we’re all a team here, I figured you’d be fine sharing. Anyway, I’ll bunk with Banner, Sam you’re with Bucky, and Y/N, uh I guess you’re with Cap”

Your eyes widened at hearing you’d be rooming with Steve. “What about Nat?” You asked, wondering why you couldn’t just room with her, considering you were the only two girls.

“Nat got her own room” Tony explained, and you looked over at Natasha who just shrugged,

“I knew he’d do this, so I usually call ahead of time and just book my own room myself.”

“Genius” You whispered with a tad of jealousy.

Finally, you glanced at Steve, who looked as equally not-thrilled to be sharing a room with you. You were the newest member to the team and ever since you joined, you’d hadn’t had the greatest rapport with Mr. Captain America. You weren’t the type of person who liked to follow orders, and on missions, you typically wanted to do your own thing instead of listen to Cap’s directions over the comms. This led to a lot of bickering back and forth between the two of you, as Steve often thought you were reckless and a danger to yourself. Meanwhile, you thought he could be bossy and entitled, expecting you to just listen to him because he was older.

“Ill take the bed by the window” Steve mumbled as he opened the door after the silent walk up to your hotel room.

“Fine” You gripped, setting your things down on the other bed. As you did so, you winced a little at the pain in your wrist. You had probably twisted it at some point during the battle. It wasn’t serious, but it was an annoying ache.

Hearing your little wince, Steve looked up at you from across the room and noticed you examining your wrist.

“Wouldn’t a’ happened if you had just listened to me” he tutted under his breath.

Your head snapped over at him, “Seriously?!”

“Yeah, seriously.” Steve’s eyes turned a little colder, “This is a team Y/N, you can’t just start going rouge in the middle of a battle. I make a battle plan for a reason! And you just complete ignore my instructions over comms!”

“I knew what I was doing!” You snapped back at him, “I was completely in control until you sent Bucky over to ‘rescue’ me” you dramatically put quotes around ‘rescue’, “which was unnecessary and totally delayed the mission!”

“I had to!” Steve practically yelled, “You weren’t responding when I kept asking for a status and I had no idea where you were!”

“Why does it matter? You let Natasha do whatever she wants on missions, and she hardly ever speaks over comms and yet you’re never up her ass about it!”

“Because I trust Nat!” Steve’s confession took you aback a little, letting a few seconds of silence hang in the air.

“Oh so that’s it? You don’t trust me?” You were furious, and Steve could tell.

“Shit,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed, “Y/N that’s not what I meant, I just-“

“Whatever” you cut him off, “I’m getting in the shower” You grab your pajamas and walk into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

——

While you let the hot water wash away the dirt and sweat that had accumulated from fighting, you opened the tiny little complementary soap bar provided by the hotel, placing it on the rim so you could use it in a moment.

While washing your hair however, you failed to notice the soap slip from the rim and slide down the tub, landing near your feet. This came to bite you in the ass unfortunately, as you finished rinsing your hair you took a step back and slipped on the bar, your feet coming out from under you. Your shoulder and head took most of the fall, hitting the side of the tub hard.

“Fuck!” You cursed, gasping as you felt the pain slowly creep into your upper arm. You had probably dislocated your shoulder, and maybe cracked a rib too by the way you were feeling.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” You heard Steve yell from right outside the door, his voice laced with concern- which was something you had never heard him direct towards you.

“No” You called back, “I slipped in the shower and hit my head, and I think I dislocated my shoulder”

You looked around, seeing if there was something you could grab onto to help pull yourself up, but there was no handle or anything. And your arm with the bum wrist was closest to the rim, but unfortunately, you didn’t have enough strength there to be able to push yourself with just that wrist. Realizing the slight predicament you were in, you explained to Steve,

“I think you’re gonna have to help me up”

Always ready to be of assistance, Steve immediately started turning the door handle until you yelled again,

“Wait wait no! Steve you can’t just come in here!”

“What? You just asked me to, you need help!”

“I’m in the shower…Im naked Steve” you said as if it should’ve been obvious.

It was almost as if you could hear the blush creep onto Steve’s face as he clued in “Oh…right…well what am I supposed to do?”

“You’re gonna have to close your eyes, and I’ll just direct you”

A few seconds passed until you heard a hesitant ‘okay’ from him.

He started to open the door again, “Promise you’ll have ‘em closed!” You quickly shouted before he came all the way in.

“I swear Y/N, they’re closed!” He finally opened the door, and true to his word, his eyes were completely clamped shut.

“Okay, now just walk straight until you feel the curtain, pull it back and turn off the water” You instructed him, as Steve walked forward with his arms outstretched and yanked the shower curtain back, his hand quickly found the nozzle and he turned the water off.

You reached your arm out to Steve, “I’m reaching my hand out towards you, so you can help me up” He quickly found it, clasping his hand in yours and crouching down lower to you.

As he helped you stand, your other arm instinctively came out and grabbed his forearm so you wouldn’t fall.

“Sorry” You mumbled, realizing you were getting him wet.

“It’s alright” he said softly, sounding sincere, his eyes still very much closed. You had to hold back a laugh as you stood completely naked in front of Steve Rogers, whose face was a deep crimson and just as embarrassed as you were despite not even being able to see you.

“Can you turn around and hand me a towel? They’re right behind you”

You quickly wrapped the towel around yourself, “I guess you can open your eyes now”

Steve did as you said, and his attention quickly fixed on your lopsided shoulder that clearly wasn’t symmetrical with the other one.

“You should probably get checked out for that”

“Of course I manage to get through a fight unscathed but have to injure myself in the shower” you grumbled, trying to haphazardly dry yourself off without exposing yourself to Steve. He smiled sympathetically at you, the first smile you had possibly ever gotten from him.

“Can you turn around for a sec?” You asked him, “I need to change”

Steve did as he was told, and you grabbed your clothes from off the counter, managing to slip your sweatpants on easily and somehow clasp your bra. Your shirt however, was proving difficult. With your fucked up shoulder and sore wrist, you couldn’t quite figure out how to get your arms through the sleeves without causing yourself a lot of pain.

“Steve?” You swallowed, embarrassed to have to ask him for help again, but it wasn’t like you could walk into the hospital shirtless.

“Hm?” He hummed, still facing away from you.

“I need some help putting my shirt on, you can turn back around”

Steve turned to see you standing there with just your bra on and gray sweatpants, wet hair framing your face and falling down your shoulders, getting your chest damp as well. Seeing you in this state caused his face to flush bright red once again and he gulped, not being able to help himself from just staring.

“Steve! My shirt” You snapped him out of it, and he finally took the shirt you were holding out for him.

“Alright um,” he began, not too sure how to go about this, “Put your good arm through here”

Steve then gently guided the other sleeve over your injured arm, which you held closely to your side. As the tight fabric pulled over your shoulder, you swore under your breath.

“Sorry, sorry” Steve apologized quickly. Once he was finished, you headed past him out of the bathroom, slipping on some shoes and grabbing your phone.

“Im just gonna get an uber to the hospital” You said as Steve came out of the bathroom after you.

“Hold on, just let me get my coat” He said absentmindedly.

“What? I can go by myself Steve” You looked at him pointedly.

“Im sure you can, but you’re not going to” he glared, “you’re not getting in an uber this late at night by yourself. And didn’t you say you hit your head too? What if you have a concussion? It’s not safe to go by yourself.”

“I doubt I have a concussion” you rolled your eyes, but truth be told, he might be right. Your head was killing you, and you had started to feel nauseous. “You don’t have to baby me all the time, I can manage on my own”

“Well considering you couldn’t even get dressed by yourself, I find that hard to believe” Steve muttered, “and this isn’t about me baby-ing you, I’m looking out for you. When are you gonna get that through your head? Im coming” With that, you knew his decision was made and nothing you said could change it.

The beginning of the Uber ride was mostly quiet, you started out the window for the most part and missed how Steve kept glancing over at you to see if you were alright. Only a few minutes in, you started to shiver. You couldn’t help it; your hair was still soaking wet and the Uber driver had the AC blasting for some reason. The adrenaline of getting hurt was also starting to wear off, meaning the pain was starting to set in more. Your shoulder was killing you and your head was pounding.

Steve immediately noticed when you start to shake involuntarily, and without saying anything, he slipped off his own coat and slid it around your back, as you only had on a thin long sleeve shirt. You mumbled a thanks.

Finally, you were seated in the surprisingly empty waiting room and told you would be seen shortly.

“I do trust you” You looked over at Steve,

“Huh?”

“I do trust you” he spoke a little louder, lifting his head to look at you. You suddenly remembered the argument from earlier and what he was referring to.

“Then why do you treat me like I can’t be left alone?” You asked him quietly

Steve shrugged, “Maybe its cause your new, maybe its cause I feel like it’s my job to look out for everyone…” He swallowed, looking down before continuing, “Maybe its cause I don’t feel the same way with you as I do the others”

It look you a moment to realize what he was implying. “Well you have an interesting way of going about showing it” You smiled.

Steve finally looked up at you, smiling slightly as well, “Sorry. Im usually not the best with this sort of thing. Any experience I have dates back to 1940” He chuckled lightly

“That’s okay” You stated softly, “Theres always room for more experiences”

Right after you said that you got called back. Steve went through with you and waited patiently as you were seen. They were able to pop your shoulder back in without needing surgical intervention, which Steve held your hand through though you didn’t ask him to. They also gave you a significant amount of pain medication, leaving Steve to have to haul your loopy, giggly self back to the hotel.

After carefully helping you into bed, he placed a bottle of water and more pain medication on your bedside table in case you needed it in a few hours.

“Hmm thanks Steve” you mumbled dreamily.

Steve just chuckled softly before turning around to get in his own bed,

“Wait” you lazily reached out for him, “you can get in my bed. It’s cold in here”

While Steve would have loved to crawl in next to you, it didn’t feel right to him. This wasn’t you, you were hopped up on pain meds. In the morning you probably wouldn’t remember this and be confused as to why he was in your bed.

“I don’t think so” he whispered, squeezing your hand back “but I’ll be right over here, right across from you if you need anything”

Steve then pulled your hand up to his lips and kissed it, and before he could tell you goodnight again, you were already passed out.

------

Taglist: @worksby-d @gh0stgurl @dpaccione @patzammit

#steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers fluff #Steve Rogers angst #avengers x reader #mcu imagine

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farfromstrange · 6 months

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Do No Harm: A Matt Murdock x Reader Series

PREVIEW

Masterlist | Series Masterlist (coming soon)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Doctor!Reader

Set during: Daredevil Season 1

Summary: Two years ago, you fled across the country, leaving your past far behind you. Dedicated to helping those in need, you only barely escaped the shadows that haunted you. But you managed; you changed your name, acquired an entirely new identity and a New York medical license – all for a chance at a new life. You somehow managed to get a job at Metro General in Hell’s Kitchen, rented a new apartment and made new friends. The person you claimed to be did, anyway. Everything was going well. Too well. Until one day, you run into Matt Murdock. In an instant, the safe haven you built for yourself starts to unravel, and you find yourself forced to face the very life you tried your hardest to escape.

Warnings: Angst, domestic violence, implied/referenced child abuse, substance abuse, canon typical violence, injury, mental illness, strong language, eventual smut, Black Suit, medical jargon (but I’m not a doctor), Reader has a fake name that is used for a big portion of this story ("Olivia Carter"), no y/n

A/n: I've been watching a lot of medical dramas lately to cope with the drama of life. This is how this idea came to life. I couldn't help myself. As mentioned in the warnings, Reader has a fake name due to her history, but it still a reader insert. I use "you" and she/her pronouns when referring to the Reader. So you can either see her as an OC or as yourself. I hope you guys enjoy this little gem! See more information below.

18+ for EXPLICIT CONTENT. MINORS DNI!

More under the cut.

ONE: Night Shift (coming December 1st)

Excerpt from Chapter 1

[…] Matt doesn’t want to be a liability, he doesn’t want to be the reason the people he loves get hurt, and yet it continues to happen time and time again.

Maybe he’s cursed. It’s the only explanation for how things are going for him now. Maybe God has a grudge and finally decided to exercise his right to make his life a living hell. There is an infinite number of possibilities, but none of them make sense.

He’s the anti-hero of his own story and that of everyone else who ever dared to let him into their lives. He’s his own worst enemy, his personal saboteur. His unwavering pride has a tendency to get in the way of his happiness, which often leads to more bad than good, but admitting that would leave him vulnerable and exposed—he can’t get hurt again.

It’s better to push the people he loves away before he can hurt them and force them to walk out on him the same way everyone else in his life has ever since he can remember. At least in his twisted mind, that’s true. […]

-> Story Aesthetic

If you want to be added to the tag list, please let me know! I do separate ones for all of my series because not everyone who filled out the tag list form wants to read an entire series. So, this will be tagged separately and only those who want me to.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x ofc #female reader #reader insert #medical drama #no y/n #series #do no harm #charlie cox #matt murdock imagines #lizzi writes #preview

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phoenixyfriend · 1 year

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[squints at the MCU] Tony Stark has displayed more ability to weather interrogation and torture than Steve Rogers.

This is "(displayed more)(ability)," not "(displayed)(more ability)," to be clear.

(I know fiction’s depiction of torture is famously propagandafied, but in this case, it’s not about torture for information so much as physical traumas shown on screen.)

(Anyway, have a rant I did on discord the other day.)

It's not really so much about "resisted the urge to hand over information" as "survived a truly harrowing experience and still came out of it trying to do good."

Tony's very first movie involves getting repeatedly drowned while in constant pain from bomb injuries as a civilian contractor, and I… don't think I can remember anything even a little similar with Steve

I don't think he's ever been captured for long before breaking out? All his injuries are in active battle, not torture.

Like... Steve went through something horrible with the ice and losing Bucky, nobody can argue that. But I think it's very telling, sometimes, that movie Steve, especially 2012 movie Steve, is completely unaware of the absolute nightmare that Tony experienced in his solo movies.

I have so many feelings about Tony Stark being the epitome of "guy who was raised and manipulated into being a bad person by someone he trusted, and (after a horrible experience) attempts to be a better person, constantly and consistently, even if he sometimes fucks up in the execution."

And the way that some fics elide his experiences in cleaning up other people's messes (first Obadiah's, then Howard's) and how that doubtlessly compounded his many neuroses from fixing messes that he did actually create himself is just

I have a lot of feelings

And am also feeling a little bitter and salty about how Tony Stark's MCU incarnation reportedly took some inspo from Elon Musk... and a little petty and satisfied about just how drastically we've all be shown that Musk can never live up to the idea of 'billionaire with inherited wealth who actually, without hesitation, risks his own life to save millions' that he tried to use PR to achieve in the media with 'my electric cars are gonna save the world' stunts about things he didn't actually have a hand in inventing

I'm just reading some fics I really enjoyed when I was still in the YA fandom, and there was a reference to a line Steve said in the movies and I started thinking (again) about how frequently fans take lines from Steve or Sam about Tony as gospel, because they haven't seen Tony's movies, and the lines from the star spangled boys are contextually meant to show that they don't know jackshit about Tony or his life, because they are directly contradicted by multiple prior films.

Also like... how often Steve's traumas get explored (in fic) in a way that Tony's just... don't? At most, his issues about Howard get explored, but that's it.

There's this moment in CACW that people take as Accurate and it infuriates me.

Tony Stark: [Back in the cell.] Just look. Because that is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes. [He shows a holographic image of Doctor Broussard.] Clearly, I made a mistake. Sam, I was wrong. Sam Wilson: That's a first.

Which, like... it's a bad movie. Obviously. But also

That line is immediately followed by Tony revealing that he's here to help the others and is sabotaging the security to make sure Ross can't take advantage, and yet fanfic still uses Sam's quote to promote anti-Tony agendas!

And 'Tony admits he fucked up' is. Like. Listen to me

Tony's first solo movie is fixing Obadiah's machinations. *

His second solo movie is fixing his Dad's fuckup.

His first team movie is fixing Thor's mistakes.

His third solo movie is fixing something that is only tangentially his fault.

It's not until AoU that the fuck-up is really his and his alone (well, not counting Bruce), and even then, even then, a massive portion of the blame is narratively laid at Wanda's feet!

And only then do we get this man, who has spent five movies seeing what happens when people don't take responsibility for their actions, or have anyone riding them to be ethical, who has criticized himself for neither having that oversight nor providing that oversight for people who snuck shit under his nose, that is when we get Tony weighing in on the side of "most countries on the planet are agreeing with this and it's for a reason, please work with me here, maybe we can get some of it rolled back to be less authoritarian and more reasonable."

* and removing himself from the military industrial complex he was raised and groomed to be in, but that's a system and not an individual act or a set 'villain'

Or as @firebirdeternal put it:

I would say that his first solo movie does have a large element of fixing his own mistakes too, it's just that his "mistake" was Trusting the Wrong Person and not taking personal responsibility for how his actions are affecting the world. (Which, he immediately does upon coming back from being captured? "We're going to immediately stop making weapons, because it's making the world worse" and then when Obadiah cuts him out of the company he goes "Oh. Okay no that didn't work, have to personally fix all this then.") and yeah it's just Tony have plenty of reasons to be on the side of "Someone needs to have oversight over this"

IM1 is such a good exploration of someone in privilege saying "this stops now" in a situation where they do have control because they have been confronted with their mistakes in a way that's unavoidable

It's also like, a great example of the fantasy of the Super Hero. Because Tony Stark, the businessman, even with all his wealth and knowledge, isn't able to stop the systemic harm being caused by His Own Company. One person isn't able to do that, even with the best of intentions. It isn't until he becomes something else, something more, a Super Hero, that he's able to make any kind of meaningful change on his own. Like IM1 is just a phenomenal movie. It understood it's subject material so incredibly well.

And people skip it and then take Steve and Sam at their word about Tony's strength of character and moral convictions and I scream.

THIS MAN FLEW A NUKE INTO A WORMHOLE WITH THE FULL EXPECTATION THAT HE WAS GOING TO DIE

Yeah, like, that Jump on the Grenade mentality is something that he and Steve actually literally share.

They both had 'jump on the explosive to save people' moments in their introductory movies.

I find so much more strength and inspiration in stories like Thor and Tony, where they are inherently fuck-ups and were shitty people and they are trying so damn hard to be better, which is more Tony than Thor really, but both of them and their first movies are just. I find that more inspiring than Steve or T'Challa or any other hero who was already a good person and just Became Great.

Tell me about the person who has to struggle to find that moral choice. Tell me about Natasha dragging herself from her oceans of blood and Tony fighting the government over whether they have the rights to use weapons he's created and about Thor having to reckon with his family's power being born of imperialistic ravaging of other cultures.

I want to hear about the people for whom being good is hard and a choice they don't have to make, but then they make it anyway.

Also I stand by "I am Iron Man. [infinity snap]" being the most amazing bookend the MCU could have done and probably the best part of the Endgame.

#Tony Stark #character analysis #phoenix talks #MCU #Iron Man Movies #Iron Man #Avengers #AoU #CACW #AEG #torture mention

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snoopymins · 1 month

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we're all reaching out to find another hand | na jaemin

summary: Na Jaemin is an up-and-coming investigative journalist, relentlessly exposing corruption and cover-ups at every corner, and you are but the exasperated superhero charged with ensuring he doesn't get killed in the process.

pairing: journalist!na jaemin/f!superhero!reader

wc: 26k

genre: non-idol, superheroes, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending/romance

warnings: violence and injuries, typical stuff for superhero media ig? brief mentions of natural disasters, gun violence, etc

note: had to mush things together and cut things out to get this to fit. i hope that whatever staff member decided there should be content blocks on posts has a wretched day. anyways, this is a superhero au, specifically inspired by superman/clark kent and lois lane, in that reader is a kryptonian/supergirl and jaemin is, essentially, her lois lane. those characters (clark/lois etc) are not here, however, kun is placed into what is essentially clark kent/superman's role, as well as an oc for lois lane. no in-depth knowledge is necessary—all my research is based on google, wiki, and popular media surrounding superman. i do my best to explain everything as well, promise!

playlist: tomorrow is closed—nothing but thieves • do you realize??—the flaming lips • who we are—hozier • drowning—woodz

masterlist

“This is happening too often.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Of course you don’t. You never do.”

Your cousin has always tried to impart careful advice on professionalism and respect when it comes to your job. For the most part, you agree, and treat it like your own personal Hippocratic Oath.

You figure if Kun saw you now, bickering with Na ‘Persistent Pain In Your Ass’ Jaemin, he’d be a little disappointed in you.

“I wasn’t in danger,” Jaemin counters stubbornly, crossing his arms.

“I think falling off a ladder and cracking your head open on the sidewalk counts as danger.”

“It’s not being held at gunpoint, though.”

What does he want, a congratulations that the one time you save him he isn’t seconds away from being shot or otherwise maimed?

“It’s still dangerous.”

But—you figure that there must be something in the water at the Daily Planet. One journalist acting recklessly for the sake of the greater good—and consequently roping in her own personal Kryptonian-on-call—is a fluke. A second one is too much of a coincidence. Especially considering the Kryptonian that Lina Dhar-Qian had was your cousin, Qian Kun, the one and only Superman.

Leaving you, Supergirl, to save the persistent Na Jaemin from certain death when he pokes too many sleeping dogs. You, however, lack the patience Kun had. Has. Then again, Kun and Lina are married. Have been for ages. That probably changes things.

Na Jaemin may be the prettiest person you’ve ever laid eyes on in the entire universe—and you’ve seen a lot—but that doesn’t quite cancel out his penchant for trouble that, at times, seriously concerns you.

A cough pulls you from studying the streak of white paint on Jaemin’s cheek—flushed red from the unforgiving summer heat and humidity.

A dark-haired guy looking close to Jaemin’s age gazes up at you two, bewildered.

“What happened?”

You decide now is a good time to set him down, having gotten distracted with your argument after you’d caught him, and remaining several feet in the air. Even so—Jaemin is one of the few men who are more or less okay with you carrying him. Once your feet are settled on the ground, he slides out of your arms with ease. An old song and dance for you two. Which is, again, concerning if you think about it.

“What’d you do?” his friend asks next, frowning at him.

“I fell off the ladder. What’d I do? Clearly suffered from the negligence of my friend, Renjun. I could’ve cracked my head open right here and died.”

“I see,” Renjun says, uninterested. He turns to you next. “Well, I suppose we should say thank you for making sure he sees tomorrow.”

I’m used to it, you want to say.

Supergirl, however, must reply, “No thanks needed. Please be more careful next time. Both of you. Using a ladder is more dangerous than you think, you know.”

“It’s not my fault,” Jaemin mutters. “He left.”

“For thirty seconds—”

“Thirty seconds is all it takes!”

“I swear to god, Jaemin…”

You gently interject, “What’s this for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

They stop their bickering. Renjun blinks a few times at you, then the wall, coughing.

“Oh, it’s—it’s supposed to be a mural I’m doing. Me and some other local artists are putting up murals around the city,” he explains, then hastily adds, “With permission, of course.”

You chuckle quietly. As if you’d do anything if it wasn’t done with permission. But back to what Renjun is saying…

“Did you do the one on the corner of Flanagan and 30th? The one of me?”

You know he did—you can recall the loopy signature on the corner reading, simply, Renjun. Unless this is another Renjun, but you don’t think so.

“I did.”

“It’s really nice,” you say truthfully. “Very… warm.”

His face lights up. “Thank you! That was my intention—part of it, anyway. A lot of depictions of you guys always seem so… cold. Great art, don’t get me wrong, but… too impartial for my personal tastes. Like you guys are bigger than life. Which you are, technically, but not like that… not in my opinion, anyway…”

Renjun is flushed and a tad sheepish by the end of his mini tirade. Jaemin stares at him like he can’t believe his eyes.

You smile at him. “Thank you, Renjun. That’s very kind of you to say. And for this—you just need the wall to be white to start?”

“Oh, yeah…”

“I can do it.”

That catches him off guard. Jaemin, on the other hand, says nothing and simply looks at you. You blame the jump in your pulse on the distant thundering crack of a tectonic plate moving on the west coast at that very moment.

“Oh, no, no, you don't have to do that. Jaemin and I—well, it should probably be me—”

“Hey.”

Renjun ignores him. “—can finish it. I’m sure you have more important—”

In the time that it takes for him to say the word important, you scoop up the can of paint and the brush and finish painting the wall white. The breeze hits in the next moment as you settle yourself back in front of them, smiling.

“—work…” he trails off, blinking a few times as he gazes at the now-white wall. Jaemin crosses his arms and turns a critical eye over it, as if searching for mistakes.

“Hope I didn’t miss anything,” you joke.

Renjun stares at you, looking a little starstruck all of a sudden. “Can I get a picture with you?”

You grin. “Sure.”

The shutter of the camera on his phone is loud as he takes a selfie of you two.

“Thank you so much… I really appreciate it…”

“Of course.”

Ten miles away, a fire alarm goes off. If you try hard enough, muddle through enough of the scents in the air, you can smell the building smoke.

You lift off the ground. “I should go. You two be safe.”

“Thanks,” Renjun says earnestly. “You, too.”

You wink and rap your knuckles against your chest. “Bulletproof. But thanks.”

You’re off in the next second. Despite the distance between you in the next handful of seconds, the thump of Jaemin’s heart lingers in your ears.

He has a steady heart.

You arrive at the burning apartment building just as he speaks.

“Really?”

You clear the first floor.

“She’s Supergirl,” comes Renjun’s grumbling response. “She’s cool. You aren’t going to make me feel bad for geeking out a little.”

Second floor.

“Hmm.”

“Don’t Hmm me. What about you, huh?”

Third floor.

“What about me?” Jaemin asks coolly.

Fourth floor. A teenager studying, a babysitter and a toddler, an elderly couple, a sleeping man. A fire truck and ambulance draw near, sirens piercing in your ears. You focus on the heartbeats leftover and underneath that, the conversation happening ten miles away.

“You know, I thought Hyuck was exaggerating when he was talking about your sleuthing.”

One more room left. The fire originates from here. You feel the heat of the flames but you’ve also felt the heat of the sun, so you dive in without fear. In the corner of the kitchen, a little girl and a Malinois puppy huddle together. A beam crumples and part of the ceiling caves. You catch it before it can crush them. The little girl, teary-eyed and helpless, gazes up at you with nothing short of relief.

Finally taking a breath, you hold it for one second as you toss the ceiling to the side, then release it as you take the girl and her puppy into your arms. Little hands and claws cling to you.

You get them out.

There are no casualties. A few burns, smoke inhalation, but no casualties. Katie, the nine-year-old girl you saved, inadvertently started the fire trying to cook for her mother, a janitor at Metropolis General pulling fifteen-hour workdays to pay the bills. She only wanted to do something nice for her. You text Kun and Lina about it, to make sure nothing bad happens to either of them because of it. Unlike them, there is only so much you can do as a civilian. Same with Supergirl, as officials deem you an outsider when it comes to these kinds of issues—useful only to pull people from burning buildings and to stop alien invasions.

During this, Renjun and Jaemin’s conversation has gone on unimpeded.

“Sleuthing,” Jaemin is saying, “sounds incredibly unprofessional. I’m a journalist. And Donghyuck is always exaggerating. I don’t even talk to him and Mark, you know that, right? Where are they getting their sources from?”

“Your headlines,” Renjun deadpans. “And the fact that every major story you’ve published in the last four months have featured Supergirl in some way or another, usually with a footnote—a footnote, Jaemin—about how you had your ass saved from certain death by her.”

“I have a word limit, alright?”

“You’re insane. Totally insane.”

“I love you, too, Renjunnie.”

“Where’s that ladder at? Get on it. I’m going to push you off.”

Jaemin’s laugh is warm in your ears.

You ignore the weight that forms in your chest and head home for the day.

You first met Jaemin when he was about to be shot. Specifically, shot by the Russian mafia for getting caught poking into their drug trades. The mobster had pulled the trigger. Bullet released from its chamber, aimed to kill, to ensure the things Jaemin had learned would never see the light of day.

If it were anywhere else, they’d likely succeed. But this is Metropolis. You can push your limits. Bullets can fire and you can still save someone.

It was close, though. Fired in an instant, Na Jaemin had not flinched but had instead braced, refusing to show fear to them. Very noble. Very impressive. Nonetheless—unnecessary. You pulled him out of the way and didn’t hesitate to take down the mobsters, either, tying them up and leaving them outside the dingy warehouse—because it’s always a warehouse these guys use to kill people—for the police to grab.

Then you went back to Jaemin and let time resume. Off-balance and disoriented, he stumbled right into your arms. Some initial pushback. But the fight left him just as quickly when he realized who you were, wide eyes taking in the symbol on your chest.

“It’s okay,” you had said to him gently, your hands on his arms. “You’re safe now.”

The adrenaline was quickly leaving him, his heart fluttering like a hummingbird in your ears, blood pumping, fear still tangible.

He had put up a good front in front of those mobsters. He really had. But it wasn’t good enough to fool you. But—that was perhaps the point. You were you. Supergirl. You weren’t just anyone else witnessing a vulnerable moment. That’s why, you think, for a few minutes, he was willing to let his guard down. You remember the way he shivered, one of his hands balling up the material of your cape.

“You’re safe now,” you had repeated and finally, it seemed to sink in. Or rather, what had kept him going finally gave out.

You helped him sit on the floor, kneeling beside him, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s your name?” you remember asking him gently, regaining his attention.

You remember him looking at you, really looking at you, the emotions in his dark eyes, revealed to you, reeling from the situation he had just been in. He had, in that moment, reminded you sharply of yourself. It was a discomforting thought, but no less true.

“Jaemin,” he had told you quietly, an accent curling his words faintly. “Na Jaemin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jaemin. I’m Supergirl.”

“I know.”

You had smiled, because you got that a lot when you said it, but there was something else that was… charming about the way he’d said that, so knowingly. And after that, after the police arrived and he was seen to and the story broke in the papers, his name underneath it, the moment had stuck with you. It usually doesn’t. You have an excellent memory and nine out of ten times you can recognize someone you’ve rescued but they don’t… linger with you.

Not in the way Na Jaemin did.

Then, one month later, you got a tip about an illegal arms deal involving two heavy-hitter players in Metropolis. When you arrived at the hotel it was taking place at, you bumped straight into Jaemin.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said when he saw you.

“Jaemin?”

He had only pointed at the men with machine guns advancing on you, said, “They’re trying to kill me,” then ran the other direction.

“The exit is the other way—!”

“I’m not done here yet!”

“Now, wait a second—” Your response was drowned out by gunfire. Bullets pelted you and clinked to the ground. By the time you handled them, delayed by your confusion over Jaemin’s decision, he was gone.

Well, he was in the stairwell, going down, and you could hear his heart, thumping quickly, less fear this time and more determination. But since he wasn’t in more danger, you decided to handle the gunmen first.

By the time you were finished with that, a few sounds from the basement gained your attention. When you ventured down, you found a stash of weapons far larger than expected, a knocked-out mobster, and Jaemin, with an abandoned crowbar near him and a split lip, snapping pictures.

“I’m not helpless,” was the only thing he had told you.

That set the tone for the rest of your relationship.

For the better and for the worse.

Blue-and-red lights flash rhythmically in the night. Coming up on three days of no sleep, it’s just about a siren’s call to close your eyes and drift off right there.

You do get energy from the sun—yellow suns specifically, and in this case, Sol, the star which makes you what you are—and can go longer stretches without having to eat or sleep than if you were under a red sun or if you were a regular old human, but at one point, you do need it and you are rapidly approaching that threshold.

It’s why you just about miss Jaemin.

“What happened here?”

Your head whips to the side, to where he now stands, gazing out at the scene, eyes tired, button-up and slacks rumpled, like he was sleeping at the office when he got the tip. He probably was. He shouldn’t, you’ve told him too many times to go home and rest. It’s not good for his health… though when he asks why you care, you say something lame about him getting slow because of it. Which is true and just as concerning but emptier without a pretext. But if you included one, you think he’d be even likelier to ignore you. He’s like that. You don’t know why. You wish you did.

Something cold slides into the loosely curled fingers of your hand. Your fingers close around it reflexively.

SNAP.

You blink, dropping your eyes from his face—now facing you—to your hand. Ink pools in your palm, staining your skin and the shattered bits of the pen, too. On the ground lies the other half of the pen.

“That,” Jaemin says, “is a terrible reflex.”

“I zoned out.”

“You were looking straight at me.”

“I zone out while looking at things and people sometimes,” you say defensively. “It happens.”

“Right,” he says doubtfully.

You wipe the ink on your hand on your cape, then reach up to dig the heels of your palms into your eyes. Colors starburst in the darkness of your eyelids. When you reopen your eyes, they feel ten times heavier.

“I’m just tired,” you mutter. “It is and isn’t a reflex. I’m just very good at subconsciously categorizing whether the thing in my hand is fine to be crushed or if it’s soft and fragile.”

“Soft and fragile.” His tone leaves much to be desired.

“Humans are. So are puppies. And cats. And other animals. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Hm.”

“Can’t tell you, either, by the way.” Referring to his initial question. What happened? An amateur bank break-in. Boring.

“Yes,” he says. “I figured.”

He always does this—if you’re the first on the scene and he’s second to follow, he’ll ask what happened and you’ll tell him the same thing: Can’t tell you.

“Why come out here knowing the answer is always going to be the same?”

A shrug. “Why not?”

You chuckle tiredly. “Touché.”

“You should go home and sleep if you’re tired.”

It’s childish, but you can’t help but reply, “You should go home and sleep.”

It’s dark, but you can see everything. Nothing is hidden from your sharp eyes. Neither is the way his lips twitch into a small, amused smile that he turns away to the police car parked near you.

“I will. Eventually. But between the two of us, I think you’re the biggest liability. Only one of us can destroy ten city blocks if we lose focus mid-flight.”

“I saw the mural,” you say instead of responding to that. “It turned out great.”

“Renjun is a great artist,” he agrees, and you think it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him express that kind of admiration for someone.

A jaw-cracking yawn forces itself out of you at that moment.

“Seriously,” Jaemin says, exasperated now. “Go home.”

“Only if you do.”

“Only if I do?”

“What I do isn’t limited to just danger, you know. Although one could argue a sleep deprived human is dangerous—you know, the statistics—”

“No statistics.”

“Fine. But being moderately invested in your health and wellbeing, which does admittedly center around making sure you don’t die—”

He clicks his tongue. “It’s never that serious.”

“It’s always that serious, Jaemin. Anyway, as I was saying, it also includes ensuring you get an adequate amount of sleep.”

“Alright,” he says with a big sigh, like you’ve asked the world of him. And knowing him and his sometimes workaholic tendencies, it likely is. But nonetheless, you’re pleased that you’ve gotten him to agree to this much.

“Alright,” you agree, lifting from the ground. A warm summer breeze ruffles your cape. “Get home safe, Jaemin.”

He gives a lazy wave of his hand. You chuckle quietly and then, you’re off.

As previously mentioned, you consider Jaemin—and Kun and Lina and any other person involved in investigative journalism, or really any kind of journalism—to be much stronger than you. Not quite in the physical sense but more in that… doing what you do, you learn to focus on the silver linings, on the hope, on the possibility of a better future.

Now, obviously, is not quite that time. Not with the legislature that comes out every six months talking about whether to make superhumans register with the government—a bad decision, if it isn’t obvious—and then the other bills that come out about every three months about whether ‘Kryptonians are really necessary on earth.’ This typically involves something similar to a superhuman registry, though with a little more hostility and an open threat of death by Kryptonite or, if you’re lucky, a nuke (since that won’t kill you—not permanently anyway, it might scatter your particles a bit but you’d come back together eventually).

This is in addition to the many other issues this country and this world has. But you cannot give up that easily. And the truth of the matter is, being Supergirl already exposes you to the countless injustices of the world. Doing investigative journalism on top of that, you think, would ruin you completely.

This realization has caused its fair share of guilt, though Kun and Lina agree that it takes a different brand of strength to do what they do and that you shouldn’t force yourself to do something that will only make you suffer in the long run.

You’ve suffered enough, Kun once told you quietly.

So have you.

Yes, he had agreed. But I wasn’t alone.

Yes, you had thought. That did make quite a difference.

What do you do, then?

You bake. Specifically, you bake and do deliveries. Sleepless Bites specializes in late-night cookie deliveries. Its main demographic is college students, stoners, stoned college students, insomniacs, and the occasional sleep-deprived parent. It works well with your hectic schedule but can also provide some much-needed structure when you feel more Supergirl than you.

Most often, you work the night shift, baking the cookies and then delivering them. There used to be someone else with you, specifically the delivery driver (while you did the baking), but Jisung, the kid you’d worked with, wasn’t totally happy about working these shifts since they, obviously, messed with his sleep schedule. He’d fallen asleep one night and you felt bad about waking him up since he was also a student at Metropolis University. So you decided to take care of the delivery on your own. Only to end up nearly mugged at gunpoint.

You didn’t let it happen. Obviously. You came back safe and sound with the money and your tip, but the whole incident put management in a tizzy, mostly over concerns that you’d, you don’t know, sue them or something. And poor Jisung felt so bad about it, too. You were able to use it to your advantage, though, insisting you can take care of yourself and their profit—as evidenced by you coming back unscathed and that mugger getting arrested—and thus, they should return Jisung to the day shift and leave you on your own.

It sounds a bit crazy, you know, but they were greedy enough that they agreed easily, which means you have much more room to work with in terms of potential incidents during your shift where Supergirl is needed. Sleepless Bites is also only half a mile from the Daily Planet, so you occasionally get orders from Kun, who has an insatiable sweet tooth when he’s pulling all-nighters.

So, one warm summer evening, when an order pops up on the computer screen, delivery address listing the Daily Planet, you assume it’s Kun again. A smaller order than usual this time; he usually gets two sugar cookies, two chocolate chip cookies, and two peanut butter cookies. This one only asks for two oatmeal raisin cookies and one snickerdoodle cookie, as well as an order for a large coffee—also a first. But you assume he’s branching out, so you think nothing more of it.

You get the coffee made, the cookies warmed and tucked into the box, then reach for the order sticker.

Then you see the name.

Na Jaemin.

Identity is a tricky thing. For all beings of the universe, for all humans, and for you. You are you but you are also Supergirl. Or better put—Kryptonian. To those who do not know the truth about you, you are a human. Like to Mark and Donghyuck. You are a simple delivery girl. Human. Not extraordinary.

To those who only know you as Supergirl, you are just that—Supergirl. An alien. An ally, but also potentially an enemy. Someone to politely work with but also someone to fear. You smile and shake the mayor’s hand while knowing he has an under-the-table deal with the federal government for a stash of Kryptonite, to be used in the scenario in which you decided world domination better suited your interests than saving people.

The pool of people who really know you is a small one. Kun. Lina. Their son and your nephew, Jay. Kun’s adoptive mother, Maria Qian. And… that’s it. Most of the time, you can cope normally with this. You don’t have a lot of friends—any at all, actually—which means there is not much risk for exposing yourself. And Supergirl isn’t in the business of making friends, either. Well, she was, until…

This is what happens when those worlds get too close to each other. You’re standing outside of the Daily Planet, a fifteen-story glass building in the heart of downtown Metropolis, feeling like you’re about to throw down with Darkseid (this bad alien guy who tried to colonize earth a few years ago). When in all actuality, it’s just Jaemin. Normal and relatively harmless Jaemin.

You have your ball cap on, a simple black one with Sleepless Bites in white stitching, then your glasses, a pair of black unremarkable frames. You know it seems like a flimsy disguise. But according to Kun, half of the disguise banks on the fact that most people don’t want to accept that a Kryptonian, much less Superman himself, is standing in front of them. That Superman is the quiet and polite journalist Qian Kun, who is sometimes easy to miss, especially since Superman is a figure that is impossible to miss.

It is something of the same with you. But Jaemin isn’t just anybody on the street, he’s…

Well. It doesn’t matter.

Not many people are left in the building. The janitorial staff is finishing up their nightly cleaning duties. A few journalists burning the midnight oil. Or perhaps the poor interns enlisted to proofread for them. And Jaemin. His heart is easy to pick out in the onslaught of noise all around you. You resist the urge to use your X-ray vision and look through the layers of wall and plaster in front of you to spot him.

You take a deep breath that you, biologically speaking, don’t technically need but helps soothe a bit of your nerves anyway. Your heart, though, pounds erratically in your chest. It feels impossibly loud to your ears, nearly drowning out everything else. You’re never usually this nervous around him but—being around him as Supergirl is easier because the roles are known and played. He is the persistent journalist that gets himself into trouble. You are the superhero tasked with getting him out of it.

But you as you are right now? Nothing for it. This is… no man’s land.

The glass door swings open. A sleepy-eyed Jaemin emerges, ushering a familiar burst of warmth in your chest. Oddly assured at the final sight of him in front of your eyes, you step out of the delivery car, meeting him halfway.

Clearing your throat and praying he’s tired enough not to focus too much on your voice, you ask, “For Jaemin?”

You meet his gaze for a moment, then avert your eyes to the sticker on the box of cookies, listing his order.

“Yeah.”

You trade him the box of cookies for the twenty-dollar bill, ducking your head as you start to thumb out his change.

“Uh, that’s…”

“Keep the change,” he says. “Your tip.”

“Thank you.” You flash him a quick customer service smile, then as you start to turn away, you add, “Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

“Thanks.”

You’re turned away before he is, striding for the delivery car. It takes him exactly two seconds before he himself turns around and starts heading for the doors again. Two seconds in which you clearly feel his gaze on your back. Two seconds is only an eternity to you, though; to him, a human, it’s fleeting—nothing.

It’s nothing at all.

In your six years operating in Metropolis—having started at the age of eighteen—you’ve had a number of journalists attempt to unveil your identity to the masses. Many of them used the defense that that’s what the point of their job is. Lina Dhar-Qian, the first and only journalist to ever figure out a superhero’s identity (not that anyone else knows but, you know), disagrees.

It’s not that they don’t have an obligation to do those things, it’s more that, well, most of them wanted to do it for the inevitable acclaim that would come with revealing such a fact about a… controversial figure within the world. Though Maria Qian, Kun’s adoptive mother, always believed public opinion would be split in half. There would inevitably be those who see it as a good thing, mostly those who are suspicious of Kryptonians and would rather see them leashed much tighter to the US government rather than the UN (both for the sake of potential uprisings but also—and this is the part they hate to admit—so that they’d have such a powerful backing against whoever they deemed the enemy that day).

But then, she would insist to you, Kun, and Lina, the other half would see it in a negative light—a breach of privacy, a wrongdoing against you and Kun, who have worked so tirelessly for this city and this world, swooping in during natural disasters, minimizing the time and effort for search and rescue. So, maybe someone like Huang Renjun, whose mural depicted you so warmly, seeing you as you are, for as potentially harmful as that may be.

It is… nice to have someone see you for the thinking and feelings being that you are, rather than an untouchable, larger-than-life alien deigning to help out a lower life form. You won’t try and say that it isn’t. But again—whether it’s good, is another question.

Nonetheless.

Attempts to reveal your identity are old hat. You are used to them. You know how to deal with them. There’s a habit, you’ve noticed, for new additions or transfers to the Daily Planet; quite a few of them take it upon themselves to try and reveal your identity and prove themselves to the newsroom at the same time. They never succeed, of course—laying low like you do with your job at Sleepless Bites gives you a significant advantage in comparison to Kun, who oftentimes relies on coincidence to cover himself. But it happens. The editors never quite dissuade them, either. You imagine, to them, the chances are low but never quite zero. So, why not? They’re happy to watch these guys run in circles chasing their own tails.

It’s a bit cruel, in your opinion, but what do you know?

This is all to say, shortly after Jaemin’s arrival in Metropolis and after your first and second meeting, he gets, not a gentle nudge, but a full push into chasing down your identity. Admittedly, it also comes on the tail of him exposing a few drug rings in the city and the officials caught up with them, so you figure it is equal parts wanting to watch a newbie spin his wheels but also maybe he could figure it out.

And this all happens right in front of you, one day. You took lunch with Kun, who had subtly complained about not seeing you recently and not knowing what was going on with you.

“There’s never anything going on with me,” you mumble to him, spearing a piece of chicken into your mouth. The two of you are crammed into his cubicle, which, as always, looks like a tornado just came through, papers strewn over his desk, PC tower wheezing and working overtime with an unfinished Word document running behind fifty-something tabs on Chrome.

“What about that guy you work with? Didn’t you hang out with him recently?” he asks, eating a sad-looking salad but not seeming to notice that fact as he hones his focus on you.

“Jisung. I was going to. A basketball game at Met U, his friend plays for them. But the night of we got called out for those wildfires in California, remember?”

“Ah,” he says, grimacing. “I remember. It took days to get the smell of smoke out of my suit. And hair.”

Movement to your left. Crinkling brown eyes peer over the cubicle wall. “Taeyong kept complaining it smelled like burnt popcorn in here.”

You laugh. Kun chuckles, too.

Grinning, Lina comes around to lean against the opening, arms crossed.

“Jay’s been asking about you,” she says. “Let us know when you’re off. He’s dying for a sleepover and we’re dying for a date night.”

“Don’t tell him it’s a date night. He’ll insist I need to patrol so that nothing bothers you two, and that he also needs to come with me because leaving him alone otherwise would be child neglect and in that case, having him help out would be ‘convenient, but also educational.’” You give them both a flat look. You figure most nine-year-olds are generally a little bit conniving, but you’re also very certain his parents play a role in that.

Kun jabs a thumb at his wife. “He gets that from her.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, that’s technically all you.”

You pretend to throw up. Kun smacks you with a bound stack of papers and Lina laughs.

“Oh, Lina, there you are! You know Jaemin, right? One of our newest? He did that piece on the comptroller.”

You can’t see them from your corner in the cubicle—Joey, the editor always getting on Lina’s nerves, or Jaemin—but you can tell the former is strong-arming the latter next to him, who keeps shifting on his feet, obviously uncomfortable.

“Right. That was a good one.” She doesn’t hold back the respect in her tone.

“Thank you,” comes Jaemin’s quiet reply.

“I was just telling him—if he could use those investigative skills for Supergirl, that would be great, wouldn’t it? Although Superman’s invulnerable—heh—” Kun makes a face, and you smile down at the stack of papers in your lap “—to any and all attempts at his identity, including yours, and you’ve been working his beat for a long time, I figure Supergirl’s free game, isn’t she?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Lina says passively.

“Oh, come on.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Joey. I’ve been working the, as you say, Superman beat, for over a decade. If I haven’t figured out his identity yet, then I think Jaemin’s chances with Supergirl are just as low.”

“Well, it’s worth a shot.” Joey is looking at Jaemin now. “Give it a shot, rookie, and see where it gets you. She’s rescued you twice now, hasn’t she?”

“Really?” Lina asks.

You feel Kun’s eyes on you for a moment before he averts them to his sad salad. Jaemin reluctantly—so very reluctantly—affirms this.

“Does that change anything?” Joey asks her hopefully.

“No,” she says mercilessly. “Supergirl saves hundreds of people every day. Statistically, there are bound to be some journalists she saves and there are also bound to be repeats. No offense, Jaemin, but I wouldn’t consider you overly remarkable in her eyes.”

“None taken,” he quickly says. “I completely agree.”

“He needs to stand out,” Joey says, taking her words as some kind of suggestion of action rather than the clear dismissal that it is. “Of course. That’s it. Thank you, Lina.”

Joey, once again physically strong-arming Jaemin, turns them around.

“That’s not what I meant,” she mutters under her breath.

You don’t say anything and neither does Kun. You’re both still listening.

“What I think you need to do now is most likely try to get within her proximity. You know what I mean? Show up where she is. Establish a rapport like Lina has with Superman. You know, I get where Lina was coming from, if she can’t figure out his identity, then who can? But it’ll be different with you and Supergirl.”

“And by that you mean…”

The sound of a hand meeting clothing. Joey must’ve finally let him go and clapped him on his shoulder just now.

“You don’t need me to say it, do you? Our female interns haven’t been able to keep their eyes off you since you came here. And Supergirl is, well, a girl. You get me?”

Crunch. Kun bites roughly onto a piece of lettuce.

“Maybe,” Jaemin says at last. His voice is tight, obviously discomforted. “Excuse me, I should go… Taeyong wanted to see me about something…”

“Think about it!”

Jaemin grunts and you can hear him striding away quickly, mumbling something in Korean under his breath.

You pull your focus back to the cubicle, shaking your head. “Well, that was fucked up.”

“Maybe Superman should give him a visit…”

You kick him. He curses lowly, pain flashing across his face.

“Don’t do that. That’ll gain too much attention. And I can take care of myself…”

“Of that, I am aware. Wouldn’t be entirely selfless, either. A few weeks ago, he said my writing was too bland. Jerk.”

“Droning,” Lina says. “Not bland.”

“Is there even a difference?”

She shrugs, then turns to you. “Anyway, I didn’t realize that, hm, Supergirl had saved Jaemin.”

“He mentions that in his article…”

“You read what he wrote?”

Your eyes dart between your pseudo-cousin’s shocked face and the eyebrow raise Lina is giving you.

“Wh—yes? Why is that so surprising?”

Kun and Lina look at each other, then back at you.

“I did read it,” she says next. “Well, skimmed it. Still. He’s got a lot of potential.”

“He does,” Kun agrees, setting aside his salad. “He reminds me a bit of Lina, actually. Cape chasing and all.”

She looks at you. “Kick him again, would you?”

You kick him again.

“Ow…”

“He’s not cape chasing, I think,” you murmur. “In fact, the second time we met, he seemed more than happy to prove that he didn’t need me.”

“He’s got something to prove,” Lina says. “I don’t exactly blame him.”

“Not at the expense of his life, though,” Kun disagrees.

You make a sound of agreement.

She wiggles her fingers at you. “You two. The exact same. In any case. Is this a foreseeable problem for Supergirl?”

Considering how persistent he seems, how he, as Lina says, seems to have something to prove… maybe so. You’ll simply have to be more careful and try to avoid him.

“No,” you say. “I don’t think it will.”

They give you lingering looks but don’t bring it up any longer.

But the thing about Jaemin is that, once he’s got an idea in his head, he won’t let it go, come hell or high water. And the thing about you is that you’re prepared to handle people trying to dig into your past. From journalists to amateur sleuths to the government sending satellites to try and track your flight paths and pinpoint your home (or as they’d call it, ‘base of operation’ or some really dramatic shit like that).

So, for the next couple weeks, you do your job as you normally do, with perhaps a little more vigilance than usual for spotting journalists. With, of course, the caveat that if you do end up getting tailed or cornered or something like that, you know precisely what to do to throw Jaemin off your tail.

This all comes to a head when a LexCorp research and development lab explodes. Messing, as usual, with things that are best left alone. You and Kun are both first on the scene, ushering out scientists and immediately clocking the radiation; not high enough to evacuate the entire block, but high enough to have the labs sealed and a perimeter set up, with only those with the proper protection allowed in and out.

You’re already not looking forward to having to rinse off at the end of the day when Kun puts you in charge of the back entrance while he does a little more digging. You’re a potential guard against any errant employees or otherwise people sent to do LexCorp’s dirty work and clean up the mess before the authorities can get their hands on it, but also against those who might be interested in poaching whatever goods they’ve got.

At some point in the evening, you floated up from the ground, crossing your legs beneath you as you watched the back entrance. It gives you the perfect vantage point to spot a very familiar Na Jaemin creeping around rubble and taking pictures. It’s only when he gets too close to the entrance do you say something.

“I really wouldn’t.”

You partially expect for him to be surprised at your entrance—he is not. A small flinch initially, but he recovers quickly, like he was expecting you.

“I knew it,” he says.

You lower yourself to the ground. “I’m sorry. It’s just not allowed—it’s dangerous in there if you don’t have the proper equipment and the mask helps but—”

“I’m not talking about that,” he says, waving a hand. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to go in. I really don’t want to, either. Lina’s got this story handled and I’ll be honest, I’m not interested in subjecting myself to that, even for the sake of justice.”

You cock your head. It is perhaps safe to say this is your first at length conversation with him and right off the bat, what an interesting thing to say. For the sake of justice, huh? Maybe you two have more in common than you think… Plus that stunning show of self-preservation, after Lina’s initial insistence, is a nice change of pace.

If you don’t consider the fact that he might be planning to figure out your identity and expose you to the rest of the world, you’d soften a lot on him.

As it currently is…

“Then what are you interested in, Jaemin?“

He looks at you for a moment. It is a moonless night and back here, there is minimal lighting, the power having been blown out from the explosion. You know you must be hard to make out but for you, you can make him out easily.

His dark hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it all night, and there are deep bags beneath his eyes—deeper than before, than the previous times you have seen him. Like he’s been toiling about something.

But when your eyes meet his, you see nothing but determination there.

It makes you falter for just a second, wondering, perhaps, if he’s already pulled the rug out underneath you, if he’s figured it out. It shouldn’t be possible, he’s never seen your civilian identity—been in proximity, yes, but he didn’t see you, did he?

“Who are you?”

Huh.

“No one’s ever asked me so bluntly,” you say. “Kind of a nice change of pace. But you know I can’t answer that, don’t you?”

“I know. I don’t really care, either, to be honest.”

And the crazy thing is, he’s telling the truth. That, or Na Jaemin is a professional liar and knows how to control his pulse. But you don’t think this is that.

“Is that so?”

“It’s a waste. A waste of time, of effort. There is no use in chasing a mystery like that.”

“No?”

“No. The only thing I want to know,” he says, gazing steadily at you, “is what that means.”

Jaemin points at your chest—specifically, the symbol on your chest.

“It��s not a letter,” he adds. “I know that much. You’re aliens, why would you use the English alphabet? So, I figure, it’s a symbol. It means something to you.”

“To Superman,” you add gently, because the symbol is on his chest, too.

“I don’t care about him.”

You pause, not quite sure what to say. Everyone cares about Superman. They love him. They revere him. Or they hate him completely. Either way, sometimes, a lot of the time, it becomes your problem. Which is not to say you have a problem with Kun. You don’t. But what he does reflects on you.

But this is…

You smile. “Na Jaemin, you are the strangest being I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” you say, and you mean it, too.

A pause, a moment of understanding passing between you two, like before now, you’ve been working on two different wavelengths. You suspect, that though you now seem to be on the same one, you’ll still be on opposite ends, but nonetheless…

“It means hope,” you tell him softly. “This symbol that we wear, that I wear, it means hope.”

“Hope,” he repeats, more to himself than anything else, gaze clinging to the symbol for another minute before he looks back at you. “I understand. Thank you.”

It’s earnest. Genuine. And you can also understand that he does not intend to make this knowledge public. He can and it likely wouldn’t hurt but he won’t.

Jaemin takes a step back, his objective now completed.

One last glance, then he turns and leaves. You watch him until he disappears around a corner, no longer in your immediate field of vision.

And the next day and over the days after that, nothing happens. Nothing comes out in the papers about you or Kun. Jaemin keeps his unspoken word, just as you thought he would.

“But… how do you really know there’s nothing there?”

“Jay, kiddo, I told you. Jupiter is a gas planet. Beneath the surface is just—wait for it, gasp—more gas.”

Jay Dhar-Qian, your nephew, purses his lips, brown eyes focused on the Jenga piece he’s pulling out of the tower of them.

“But have you ever gone in?”

“Well, no, but again—”

“So, you don’t know. Mom says firsthand experiences are important in the field—”

You laugh. “Of journalism! And, yeah, some of science, too, but humans have come up with plenty of solid theories about space without going out there and exploring because they don’t have the means to. The one about Jupiter being a gas planet? Unfortunately, very true.”

“I think you need to go in there and see,” he says decisively, setting the piece he pulled on top of the tower. “Then get back to NASA.”

“Oh, they’ll love that, I’m sure. Your dad and I regularly break multiple laws of physics, you know, which bothers them enough. They won’t be happy to hear their theories about gas planets being disproven.”

“Facts don’t care about feelings,” he mumbles, folding his arms on your coffee table and watching you pull out a block at the bottom.

Though, you have to pause that way you can laugh. He smiles faintly at the table, which isn’t quite the reaction you expected from that; you don’t let him know that, however, resuming your task of pulling out the Jenga piece from the middle section. You set it on the top.

“I guess,” he goes on, finger tracing a scratch in the wood, “I’ll only really believe it if I see it. So… when I get my powers, let’s go see it, okay?”

Ah.

Jay Dhar-Qian, the first of his kind, Kryptonian and human—your nephew for all intents and purposes, even if you aren’t technically biologically related to Kun.

This can, as anyone might imagine, come with baggage.

But you don’t touch on that yet. “There are spacesuits, you know. We could just get you one of those. If we ask NASA very nicely, they’ll probably give us one.”

“That’s not as fun,” he mumbles.

You don’t say anything, watching him reach for a piece from the second row from the bottom. He pokes it out oh-so-carefully but the tower wobbles precariously, then falls in a crash. A few Jenga pieces tumble off the edge of the coffee table.

He slumps back against the couch. “I lose.”

“Jay…”

“I know what you’re going to say. It’ll take time, no one like me has ever existed before, we don’t know anything about how I’m growing or how my powers will develop since I’m Kryptonian and human. I have invulnerability but it doesn’t even stay on all the time. I scraped my knee the other day, you know? It was embarrassing. I just want to be like you and Dad…” He ends his tirade of frustration by knocking his head against the edge of the couch, glaring sullenly at your popcorn ceiling.

You purse your lips, thinking for a moment. This has been a growing concern for him—and for Kun and Lina as well. Less so that they wanted Jay to even have powers in the first place and more so that Jay seemed to be vying for his powers for some misguided wish of belonging. You know that sounds harsh, especially since belonging might be even more critical for him, with one foot in the world you live in and another one in a dead one, but despite that, or perhaps in spite of it, you—and Kun and Lina and Maria—fully believe that Jay will be able to feel at home here, powers or not.

He wants to prove himself, you think, and considering the shadow that his father does cast—consciously and subconsciously, because the world needs it, but his son doesn’t—as well as your reach, though you’d hardly consider yourself as weighty as Kun is, well, it is a lot of pressure. Pressure you and Kun have never subscribed to him, to be clear, but some that he feels, nonetheless.

It’s a lot for a kid. You know very well what that feels like.

“Jay… you are the best of us. But that doesn’t mean you need to go out there and carry the weight of the world. You don’t need powers. You don’t need anything.”

He leans his head on your arm, and you are suddenly aware of how small he is next to you, little scamp that he is.

“I wanna be like you guys, though. I wanna help people.”

You curl an arm around him. “There are plenty of other ways to do that. I promise. And we’ll help you find them. Alright?”

He mumbles his assent, curling further into your side; you’ll coax him out eventually with the promise of ice cream and his favorite movie but for now, you let him hide from the rest of the world. And because when you do that, he does respond, and after a bit of time, he’s back to his old self again, you don’t linger too long on the issue. It remains in the back of your mind, poised to be brought up again next time you see Kun and Lina, but in the present moment, you decide that for now, Jay is okay.

For now, as you will find out, is not good enough. Because the next day, when you wake up—he’s gone.

Chronologically speaking, you are older than Kun. By a solid ten years, in fact.

His parents were friends with yours. And so, you vividly remember the day he was born. At ten-years-old, you were not too interested in this red, wrinkly-faced baby, who could only cry, sleep, and eat. And when you were sent off, with the instructions, among other things, to look out for who was essentially your cousin, Kun, you were very much older than him.

But then there were issues with the ship itself, and space is unfathomably harsh, and time and gravity are even worse, so, when you landed on earth at the age of sixteen, you did find your cousin—coming up on more than a decade of Superman, married, with a kid.

Those first few years were, as one can imagine, difficult. But you really would not trade it for anything in the world. And with Jay, in many ways, it feels a lot like finally fulfilling the wish of your mother. You couldn’t take care of Kun, not in the ways she had envisioned, because his adoptive parents, the ones who found him in a cornfield in Smallville, Kansas, Yuzhe and Maria Qian, had already done so. But you could—can—take care of Jay. So, you do.

People don’t know about him—they don’t know that there is another Kryptonian on earth, much less the son of Superman. And if they did? You are certain the thought of Superman—a Kryptonian��reproducing in any way would make the government implode on itself.

So. When you wake up the next morning to find Jay missing from your sofa bed, you panic.

It’s not like him, to do things like this, especially when you don’t find a note or anything. He may be invulnerable (occasionally) and raised with the optimistic kindness of Kun and the eagle-eyed shrewdness of Lina, but he’s still a kid.

You inform Kun as soon as you realize it, already forming a list of spots to hit—places familiar to him, like their apartment, his school, that fro-yo spot on Elderberry—and your cousin affirms your plan and promises to head over, since he and Lina are on the west coast for a convention. He’s mostly calm, too, which helps your panic but not quite the bundle of guilt in your chest. Still, you figure that can be addressed after you find your escapee nephew.

Then—you hit the streets. You get more than one complaint from pedestrians as you fly through the city a little faster than usual, wind whipping behind you and glass windows rattling in your wake, jostling coffee cups and papers and whatever else is light enough and unlucky enough to be caught in your path.

But as you continue to fail to find Jay and Kun does, too, having gotten in ten minutes after you set off, your initial panic returns and you care more about finding Jay than your speed.

Nightmare scenarios keep running in your mind, varying from him being abducted by any number of entities, government and not, for experimentation, to his flight suddenly developing and him panicking and leaving the city and landing in another continent, or hell, off planet entirely. You keep them to yourself, though, refusing to burden Kun even more as you can see his patience start to wear thin.

So, while he pauses to regroup with Lina—also worried out of her mind—you run through the city again.

Their apartment. His school. The Daily Planet. The fro-yo place. The—

“Supergirl!”

Your body stops before your mind processes it. Mostly because, instinctively, you recognize the voice.

“Jaemin, I’m sorry, I really don’t have time—”

“Are you looking for a kid?”

Jaemin is unbothered by the whip of wind as you flash over to him. He does, however, seem curious.

“Where?”

“Here.” He looks to the side, and you do, too. A new apartment building still under construction looks back at you, a hole in the fence right in front of you.

You duck through without a word. And like always, Jaemin follows you.

Heartbeats are hard to use on their own as locators, there is simply too much feedback, but they are familiar, nonetheless. In the present state that you are, you couldn’t make an effort to even try picking it out. But Jay’s heart pounds quick. You can hear his breathing, faster than normal, small whimpers impossibly loud to your sharp ears. You’re on the fourth floor before you know it. You hear Jaemin curse under his breath, left behind on the first flight of stairs, shoes thumping on the steps faster now.

You tune it out as soon as you spot Jay. Using your X-ray vision, you peel back the only layer between you, the door of a maintenance closet, where he’s curled up in the corner, face buried in his arms. Jaemin is on the second flight now. Still far enough for you to kneel in front of the closed door, flattening your palm on lacquered wood and whispering Jay’s name.

“Tell me what’s wrong, kiddo.”

“There’s—too much,” he says, voice strangled. “There’s too much.”

“Too much?”

He curls further into himself. “The world is too big.”

Looks like you were right. His powers—his senses only, maybe X-ray vision, too—developed overnight or just a few minutes ago.

“Make it smaller,” you say softly.

“How?”

“Focus on my voice. Pretend… it’s an island. Out in the ocean. Can you see it? Look hard, Jay. I know you can find it.”

As you speak, you can sense the shift in his focus as he tries to do as you say. His breathing is still quick but lesser than before, same with his heart.

Finally, in a trembling whisper, “I can see it.”

You reach for the doorknob, speaking as you turn it, as the gears turn and move, “Then swim toward it, kiddo.”

He sucks in a breath when you open the door, but you can see the tension starting to seep out of his body. Slowly, he lifts his head from his arms, but his eyes are still screwed shut. You open your mouth to tell him to open his eyes.

Then, Jaemin comes in. Your body moves before you can process it, shielding Jay’s face from him, because Kun and Lina have brought him to work countless times and you don’t know if Jaemin’s ever seen him. The tension returns to Jay in an instant. It sets you on edge for a reason you can’t quite articulate, your hand shooting out behind you. Jaemin stops in his tracks at your signal.

“Who is that?! Who’s—”

“It’s okay,” you quickly soothe. “It’s alright. He’s just a—a friend. It’s okay.”

“No… no…”His pulse picks up. So does his breathing.

You utter his name under your breath, unheard to Jaemin’s human ears but easily audible to Jay’s newly sensitive ears.

“It’s okay, I promise, nothing bad is going to happen—”

“No, no,” he cries. “There’s too much—it’s too hot—I don’t know what—”

Red begins to glow beneath his eyes. Then they open.

His heat vision is new and unlearned. Because of that, it burns the hottest it can go.

Your suit is built to mostly withstand what you can withstand. The freezing cold of space, nearly absolute zero, and the burning heat of the sun. But a Kryptonian’s heat vision can be as hot as the surface of the sun. Hotter, if anything. Concentrated as it is, it shreds through the fabric at your arm, thrown over your face as you moved to intercept its path, which had been aimed right over your shoulder.

So, Jay’s heat vision burns like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

You feel it tear through your skin, blood pooling, dripping onto the floor. If you keep letting it hit you, it’ll do worse, split your forearm open like a sieve. But Jay is past the point of coherency. Nerve strikes don’t work on you—Kryptonian physiology is very different from a human’s under the surface—but you bank on the very human part of Jay’s DNA to work in your favor, and as you rush forward, gritting your teeth at the white-hot pain of his heat vision burning into your skin, you find it works well on him.

He slumps in your arms in the next second, heat vision flickering out, eyes fluttering closed. For a moment, you just breathe, cradling him to your body. Your left arm trembles from the pain.

As you watch your blood drip onto the concrete floor, crimson on dusty grey, all you can think is this is the first time in a long time that you’ve seen your own blood. The slow intake of breath behind you reminds you of Jaemin’s presence. His pulse is a little unsteady, breathing the same. At that moment, it sinks in for you—what he’s seen.

He knows this is another Kryptonian.

Shit.

You reach up to unclasp your cape and wrap it around Jay, using it to keep his face hidden.

“Kun,” you whisper. “Kun, I have Jay.”

You know he hears you because in the next second, you hear the unmistakable boom of the sound barrier breaking from his path. And in the second after that, with a sharp gust of wind that makes your wounded arm throb, he’s behind you, a hand on your shoulder. You stand. He shields you and Jay from Jaemin.

“Your arm—”

“I’m fine. I’ll… be fine. His powers—I don’t know what he has entirely, but his senses and his heat vision are definitely there.”

He takes Jay from your arms. “Alright. And…” The way he trails off in combination with the way his gaze slides left leaves an open and urgent question about Jaemin’s presence.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Be careful,” he says quietly, and you know he also realizes the weight of the situation. How quickly south this can go depending… Depending on Jaemin. One last lingering look, then Kun is gone.

And Jaemin is still there. Looking at you, eyebrows knitted together. The absence of your cape is noticeable. A missing weight on your shoulders. You feel like a turtle without its shell.

“Jaemin, listen…” Your heart thunders in your own ears. In that moment, you feel a little like Jay must’ve, overstimulated and knee-deep in panic because of it. “You just—you have to understand, I… we…”

How do you say this? How do you tell him? Should you even tell him? Can you spin this in a way that doesn’t reveal Jay’s parentage? You’ve never really… lied to Jaemin. You don’t lie. You just… don’t tell him things. He once asked if you had a job and you said yes. He asked what and you said, Nothing interesting. And that was—is—true and he left it at that.

You clench and unclench your hands. The movement sends pain rippling through your forearm, still bleeding onto the floor. You make an absent note to clean up the blood before you leave.

It’s like you said. The world would lose its mind if they found out Superman had a child. That he had a child with a human. That there was another Kryptonian here—one with powers, no less, one who, if the rest of his powers develop, will come across as more Kryptonian than human.

People don’t think of Superman and Supergirl as people. As your average everyday Joe. That is the point of this persona. That you aren’t and you help people because of it. But that’s as far as people’s patience will extend. Most think you and Kun don’t even live in Metropolis proper, that you two hide away and only come out during crises. No one wants to consider the fact that Superman—an alien—might be walking among them.

You don’t want to think badly of Jaemin, but you know well that this changes things drastically, maybe enough to have him reconsidering his position in relation to you.

“He’s… Don’t… He’s just a kid,” you say weakly. “He’s just—a kid. Just a kid.”

Realization flashes across his face. “I’m not going to say anything,” he says. “I never was.”

Your shoulders drop in relief. “Thank you.”

He shifts on his feet, frowning, teeth digging into his bottom lip for a moment before releasing it. “Why—I would never… I mean. He’s just a kid.”

“I had to be sure,” you whisper. “Because it’s—it’s different. With the kid. He’s… People would do a lot to kill him or experiment on him.”

He nods along slowly, understanding. An odd silence unfolds between you two; this is new territory entirely and the newness of it leaves you both uncertain of your places.

Jaemin blows out a breath. “You don’t have to tell me anything but… is he… yours?”

“No! No, no, he’s…” You stop, swallowing. “You have to swear not to tell anyone, Jaemin.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“He’s Superman’s,” you reveal quietly. “And I’m—Superman and I are like family. The kid is like a nephew to me.”

“And his mom…”

“She’s human,” you admit.

His eyes widen. It’s not entirely surprising that that is the thing that surprises him the most and less so that Superman had a kid. Humans have such a hard time compartmentalizing the thought of Superman walking among them, much less a Kryptonian being involved with a human in that way. But, to you, even in the beginning, it wasn’t anything to scrutinize. Interspecies relationships are alive and thriving outside of earth and your time in space gave you great insight into that. More than that—well, the Kryptonian dating pool is kind of… small, for obvious reasons.

“So… his powers…”

“He’s the first of his kind,” you murmur. “We had no idea how he would develop. We still really don’t. Today… they developed. We weren’t prepared. But he’s not dangerous. I mean—he needs to learn control. But that’s it. Control for us is easy.”

He nods slowly, gaze dropping to the floor thoughtfully as he mulls over your words. You figure you two are out of dangerous territory, but it still makes you nervous.

Eventually, his gaze returns to yours. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

You close your eyes, sighing. “Thank you.”

“You’re hurt.”

Reopening your eyes, you glance down at your arm; the wound runs lengthways of your forearm, still weeping, though it’s slowed significantly, blood starting to congeal.

“I just need sun. That’s all.”

Although, because it’s from heat vision, it’ll take longer to heal, which won’t do. You might need to go off-planet and get closer to the sun. A sun. NASA doesn’t like when you and Kun get too close to Sol.

Movement from Jaemin regains your attention. You watch as he shuffles closer, digging through his messenger bag for something. You aren’t sure what until he pulls out a small first aid kit.

“No, Jaemin. Keep that for yourself—”

“You’re bleeding everywhere,�� he scolds. “It’s a biohazard.”

“I promise I’m not carrying any extraterrestrial or inter-dimensional diseases.”

“Even so. It should be covered up.” He pulls out a roll of gauze, closing the distance between you. You find yourself raising your arm to him without prompt. You can never really say no to him.

Gently, he winds the gauze around your arm. You grit your teeth at the pain that throbs through your arm.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Thank you.”

He nods, putting the roll away. You glance at your arm, gauze neatly wrapped around your arm. Blood is already starting to dot through the fabric. You really need to head out and get this fixed.

“I should go,” you sigh. “Thank you again. Really. For everything.”

He rubs the back of his neck, almost bashful. “You’re welcome…”

“Get home safe, please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you, too.”

You’ll be just fine. Eventually. All that’s left now is the aftermath.

In the summer, Smallville, Kansas is hot and dry. But at night, the heat is less blistering and more soothing. After spending the last few hours in the freezing cold of space, it’s nice against your skin, warm air blowing through your hair as you fly for the Qian farm on the outside of town.

Your arm is fully healed, thanks to the time hanging out halfway between Sol and Mercury—as far as you think you could go without making the NASA people twitchy. You stopped by your place in Metropolis to pull out a replacement suit—flying without your cape makes you uncomfortable—and a set of clothes. Clothes that you change into as soon as you get close to the farm.

The house comes into view. An invisible weight peels from your shoulders. You sigh. There is only one place on earth where you get to be yourself—get to feel like yourself. That is the Qian farm.

Kun meets you at the porch steps.

“How is he?” you ask immediately.

“Shaken but alright.”

His eyes flicker to your arm in the next second, a clear question in the action—an action that must go unspoken, since Jay’s superhearing has obviously kicked in and neither of you want to make him feel bad if he’s listening in—which he most likely is. You would.

You raise your arm for him to look at—the skin is healed, unmarred, as if nothing ever happened. Nodding, he clasps a hand over your forearm, squeezing gently. You pat his hand.

Kun tilts his head. “He’s in his room. Have at it.”

The screen door slams shut behind you. In the kitchen, freshly washed dishes sit on a drying mat beside the sink; you can smell the remnants of whatever they had for dinner. In the living room, the TV is on, playing reruns of soaps that Maria and Kun are fond of watching together. You greet Maria, then head further in, finding Jay’s bedroom.

You knock gently on the closed door. “Kiddo? Can I come in?”

Waiting a moment, you get no response, though you know he’s in there. You can hear him breathing, hear his heartbeat, which has picked up its pace out of nervousness.

“I’m coming in.”

His bedroom is full of everything that makes Jay, well, Jay. Dark blue walls, a solar system hanging in one corner, Star Wars and Star Trek posters decorating the walls, LEGO sets decorating his desk and dresser. Your shoe nudges a baseball. It rolls underneath the desk.

On the twin bed, Jay is nothing more than a lump of planet-themed blankets and sheets. Dusty, a black and white Border Collie, lifts his head from where he lays at the foot of the bed, curled over Jay’s feet underneath the blankets.

You sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out a tentative hand to what should be his head. “Jay?”

Quiet for yet another moment. But then, he shifts, covers tugging down slightly for his hair and eyes to be revealed. He still doesn’t look at you, though.

“‘M sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you are, kiddo. There’s nothing to forgive.” He was forgiven even before it happened. You know what it’s like to deal with the onslaught of the powers, of the ways in which the yellow sun fuels you differently than a red sun does. Especially to have them develop here on earth, where there is so much noise.

A small shake of his head as he stares determinedly at the footboard, away from you. “I could’ve—could’ve killed you.”

Sighing quietly, you kick off your sneakers and bring your legs up onto the bed, turning onto your side and pulling Jay closer to you.

Leaning your head on his, you murmur, “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

“You don’t—”

“Maybe, if it had been anyone else. That… is the truth of our powers. We can really hurt someone—each other, but also, more importantly, humans. That’s the truth, Jay. There’s no sense in denying it. You can hurt someone if you aren’t careful. But what happened today was an accident. And no, that’s not really an excuse, but that’s for us, for your dad and I, because we know our limits. You don’t. Your powers just developed, there is no possible way you could know the ins and outs about controlling them. I don’t want you to be hard on yourself because of this. I’m fine. I’m completely okay. All you need to do now is learn to control them and your dad and I are going to be there every step of the way, okay?”

“Okay.” His voice is small. He curls into you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You squeeze him for emphasis.

After that, he relaxes bit by bit. At your feet, Dusty rearranges himself to lay his snout over your ankle, now splayed over both you and Jay, snoring lowly as he snoozes. Downstairs, Lina is humming to herself as she digs through the freezer for ice cream. Kun is pulling down bowls from the cabinets and Maria is flicking through the channels on the TV. Outside, crickets chirp and the cicadas sing in the summer night.

That’s what you like most about Smallville—aside from being able to feel the most like yourself, it’s quiet in a way Metropolis rarely is. But you would miss it eventually, the noise, the sound of thriving life.

You wonder where Jaemin in. What he’s doing. Hopefully staying out of trouble.

The sound of your name brings you out of your reverie.

“Hm?”

The initial melancholy that saturated the room and atmosphere has mostly disappeared; what has replaced it is still calm and a little solemn, but now tinged with a new curiosity.

“I know,” he starts haltingly, clearly a little bit nervous, “that I still have a lot to do with controlling my powers… and they haven’t even all developed… if they develop…”

“It seems likely that they will,” you muse. “But what you have now is still nothing to scoff at.”

“Right… so… when I do learn to control it… can I go out there with you and Dad?”

“That you’ll have to bring up with your parents, kiddo. But…”

“Yeah?”

You chuckle at the thinly-veiled excitement in his voice at the prospect of bringing you into this to convince his parents. To him, you are the fun aunt who lets him stay up and watch TV on school nights, and his parents are the ones who are happy to put their foot down and kill his fun. Jay idolizes you enough to never really consider that you would wholeheartedly agree with his parents if they decided that this wasn’t an appropriate avenue for him to explore. And technically speaking, it isn’t, not right now, not at this age. Things could, however, change as he gets older. But you’ll leave that up to Kun and Lina.

This, however, is not about that.

“Don’t get too excited. I’m leaving this in your parents’ hands and if they say no, kiddo, you’re gonna have to listen to them.”

He wriggles a little impatiently in your hold. “I know, I know.”

“But… if they say yes, I need you to remember something.”

“What?”

Sighing, you lean your head against his. “It’s okay to quit.”

He stills next to you. “…Huh?”

“It’s okay to quit. If you change your mind… it’s okay to quit. It’s okay to run away. You know that, right?”

He’s quiet. Confused. Mostly about where this is coming from or because the thought of giving up is inconceivable to him. He doesn’t know what it’s like. But to be honest, there is a part of you that knows that if Kun and Lina agree and he, at one point, emerges as another figure alongside Superman and Supergirl, he won’t give up. No matter what. Jay is so good. So kind. And not that either of those things cancel out if he quit, but even if it is hard—and it will be, is your point—he wouldn’t give up, he’d force himself to see it through—like you do sometimes. Like his dad does sometimes, too.

A hero’s temperament, Maria once called it. Nonetheless. The way you see it, you and Kun have something of an obligation to help earth. But Jay, the next generation, the best of humanity and Kryptonians, does not need to bear the weight of this burden if he doesn’t want to.

“Okay,” he says at last. “I understand.”

You squeeze him tighter and say nothing more during your time with him. It’s only when he dozes off a few hours later do you slip out of his room. Lina and Maria are in the living room, the former working on something on her laptop, the latter doing a crossword puzzle and watching TV. Outside, the night sky is clear of clouds and full of stars. You join Kun on the porch, leaning against the railing.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he admits after a long moment of silence.

“It had to be said.”

“It did,” he agrees. “But it… never really crossed my mind—our minds—to say something like that to him.” Guilt lingers in his voice.

You watch the corn stalks sway in the breeze. “Most wouldn’t.”

“We’re not most.”

“No,” you say quietly. “But that gives you leeway. It’s fine that you didn’t say it because I did and truthfully, I think if you say something like that, too, it’ll make him wonder if we doubt him. In that case, either he doubles down or gives up entirely.”

He plants both hands on the railing, blowing out a breath.

“I sort of want him to give it up,” he admits very quietly in Kryptonian. “He doesn’t need that burden.”

“No… he doesn’t.”

Falling back into silence, together, the two of you watch the corn stalks sway in the breeze, stars twinkling at you.

“Supergirl!”

You don’t always stop for people calling your name. Sometimes, it’s a clout grab. Sometimes, someone is trying to throw acid on you. But if you recognize the person’s voice and if you have the time, you’ll stop. So, when Huang Renjun calls out to you when you’re passing by the community center where you first met him, you stop.

“Oh,” he says, blinking when you go down to him. “I didn’t think you’d stop.”

You smile kindly. “I recognized your voice. How have you been?”

“Good, good. And, um, you?”

“I’m alright, thanks. So, what’d you need?”

He gets hesitant here and you aren’t sure why. Biting his lip uncertainly, he scratches his head, clearly thinking something over. In his chest, his heart beats at an unsteady pace, one that’s enough to concern you.

“Is something wrong, Renjun?” you ask, concerned, mostly for his wellbeing—is he in trouble?

“No, no, no,” he says, waving his hands. “I’m sorry—I’m fine, I promise. It’s just… ah, I called you because… an artist in the circle I run in put up this mural and he knew I’d met you and he wanted me to tell you about it… but I’m not so sure it’s a good idea now…”

You cock your head. “Why not?”

“The mural is—well. It’s… good. Just not…” He sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“I’m not naked, am I?”

“No! God, no, I wouldn’t—”

You laugh. “I’m kidding!”

He closes his eyes, exhaling a laugh. “Seriously?”

“So long as I’m not naked or otherwise depicted in a weird sexual manner, Renjun, I don’t care. Where’s the mural?”

“The bar’s in hell, you know that, right?”

“I’m well aware. But I take what I can get. Tell me.”

“Right…”

He tells you the address—still very reluctant to do so, for reasons you aren’t sure of. Outside of being sexual in nature—which he vehemently denied—you can’t imagine why he is hesitating so much. But before you get to grill him for more details, you get pulled away by something on the other side of the city. Kun ends up beating you to it, though, as when you arrive, the robbery at the jewelry store has already been taken care of, gunmen disposed of, hostages rushing out. You do a bit of damage control, then get ready to leave when the police and ambulance arrive. Then you spot a familiar face in the crowd.

“Jaemin.”

He turns. His eyes flicker to your face, then to your arm—your left forearm, where you’d taken the hit from Jay a few days ago.

“Good as new,” you say when his gaze meets your again.

He nods, fingers fiddling with the camera hanging around his neck. He inhales, opening his mouth to say something, then stops, glancing around. Ah. Too many ears.

“Renjun told me about a new mural of me,” you tell him. “It’s a few blocks from here.”

Jaemin nods and in the chaos of the scene, the two of you slip away unnoticed.

This is a more residential area, so the further from the scene you get, the quieter and emptier the streets get. You know no one is following you, either, so you feel free to say: “My nephew is okay, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“It was.”

“He’s alright. He’s got a steep learning curve ahead of him, but I know he’ll do fine.”

“And… Superman… is he okay with me knowing?”

“He trusts me, and I trust you. So, yes.” There’s a small stutter in Jaemin’s pace, one that goes unnoticed by you as you realize the mural is just around the corner. You step around it, curious to see what had Renjun so nervous and reluctant.

When you see it, you understand.

Jaemin stops as soon as he realizes what it is, disbelief palpable, while you slowly walk to the center of it, gazing up at the painted bricks.

Jaemin’s scoff is harsh. “Why the hell would Renjun tell you to check this out?”

“To my understanding, his friend—or, well, he never said they were friends, just that they ran in the same art circles, but anyway, he said the painter was bothering him to tell me about it. I can see why. This is… really nice.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Why? Because you think it’s untrue?”

You look back at the mural. Muted dark shades of blue flow into darkness, with you in the center, on one knee, a sphere of midnight blue, swirling white, green, and brown on your shoulders, braced by your hands. Despite the gravity and the weight of your task, the look on your face, eyes closed, is serene.

The message is clear.

“Are you that dramatic?”

“Jaemin,” you say softly. “You and I both know this isn’t about dramatics. This is what I am. This is what we are. Me and Superman.”

“No, it’s not,” he argues, with a stunning amount of gall as usual, but you’re used to it by now, no longer surprised by the things Jaemin is willing to do or argue for if he feels strongly enough about them. The fact that you’re the topic of it is what surprises you, however. Why should it matter to him?

“You’re… you. And that—” he points at your chest, at the symbol there “—you said it means hope. How is this hopeful? It’s just… miserable. Inevitable.”

“Now who’s the dramatic one?” Despite the tease, your words are gentle.

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s what humans need. You know that.”

The way he purses his lips tells you he knows that very well. Yet it still seems… almost upsetting to him. You can’t imagine why. This is—well, perhaps a bit dramatic, but no less true. This is what you were saying. You and Kun have a responsibility to earth, to humans, on behalf of Krypton, on the behalf of your people. To help them. They will stumble and they will fall but one day, they will stand in the sun with you. You know this with everything inside of you.

And yet… Jaemin looks so…

Something takes over you. You’re closing the distance between you two before you realize it.

To tell the truth, outside of saving him, you try to keep your distance from him. Out of all the planets you’ve visited and the people—beings—you’ve seen, Jaemin is by far the prettiest in the entire universe. Up close, this fact is made a thousand times more debilitating for you. But even as your pulse skyrockets, warmth flooding your chest and face, you hold steady like you always do.

Your hand lands on his shoulder before you can stop it. The heat of him seeps through the fabric of his button-up, searing into the palm of your hand. Humans are much warmer in comparison to you and thanks to your senses that are heightened with the power of Sol, everything feels that much more intense to you, including this. This is the first time you’ve ever touched him outside of pulling him out of the way of a bullet or something. It’s not physically possible for you to get dizzy, and yet…

“This is presumptuous on my end,” you say quietly, lips quirked. “And truthfully, I would rather not know that fact and pretend that you do actually care about this—me (like I said, presumptuous)—but this is how things are. This is how they have to be. Humans can’t handle us in any other capacity than this one—solemn figures with a… responsibility to the sanctity of earth and humanity. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Jaemin looks at you, brows still knitted together. His eyes are such a dark shade of brown—darker on the edges of his irises before lightening a bit further in. Still dark. Still endless—easy to get lost in. And you’re very good at getting lost.

You step back. Hand falling from his shoulder, your skin tingles from the imprint of his body warmth; it leaves you quickly, leaving the palm of your hand oddly cold. You flex your hand idly and look away.

“I should go. Don’t give Renjun a hard time about this, please?”

His quiet, “Fine,” shouldn’t surprise you but it does. He’s not usually so mellow like that with you. But you aren’t complaining about it now.

“Thank you. I’ll… see you around.”

He doesn’t say anything. You turn, meandering a few steps away from him so your take off won’t jar him too much. His gaze remains on you, burning into you. Until you’re thousands of feet in the air, you feel his gaze on you and wonder when you became so attuned to it.

There are a few things you don’t like about earth. Nothing big, mind you. Not, like, humanity itself or something. If anything, you’re quite fond of them. Much fonder than you used to be. But earth has its quirks. You’re not overly fond of thunder. It’s too loud—and you’re not exaggerating. It leaves your ears ringing sometimes. The constant shift of the tectonic plates isn’t something you like that much, either. Krypton didn’t have tectonic plates. It’s part of the reason you had so many issues with the core, towards the end.

But you digress.

On that end, earthquakes aren’t your favorite things in the world, either. They happen a lot, constantly, little ones that are unnoticeable to anyone but you and geographers with the equipment to sense them. And even then, you experience them on a different level.

But you have another reason. They make you feel so… useless. All you can do is wait them out. Intervene in the moment, but you can’t stop them.

The earthquake that happens in California the next day is a prime example of that.

You heard it, of course. Loud and thunderous beneath the surface of the earth. Seconds after it hit, you and Kun were pinged about it for search and rescue. This is where you try to do everything you can to help.

You and Kun beat the search and rescue aid being sent in from the rest of the world, but you run point with the local aid. You work through the night, shifting through pieces of rubble and glass, pulling out people. You always breathe a sigh of relief when they emerge okay. You can hear their heartbeats, of course, hear when a destroyed building has no survivors, no life, and must quietly redirect the locals to other buildings that do for aid, while others will work on finding the bodies.

It’s hard, though. It’s so hard. You would think that after doing this for six years, after everything you have seen, even before you came to earth, it wouldn’t be hard. You are no stranger to suffering, to pain, to death. You watched Krypton die. You watched your people die. Your father, then your mother.

Earth was, is, a second chance. This is your home, too. And for these people, they’ve lost virtually everything. They’ll get back up, Kun reminds you. They always do. If there is anything that they are, they are resilient. You know that. And you do. But it’s still hard. The tight, brimming hug a woman gives you after you rescue her from a building on fire nearly brings you to tears, holding her to you as she sobs her thanks.

You work hard for the next two days. From dawn to dusk. You and Kun have worked on the scene of enough natural disasters like this that aid knows to rotate their workers, but it’s still a lot on them. By the third day, you and Kun are working late into the night, late enough that dawn is already approaching. Your next mission is a partially destroyed skyscraper, the other half still standing with people still trapped inside. It’s tricky because the building is too unstable. At that point, they call on you and Kun directly, right before it’s set to give out so they can make a last-ditch effort to get the people out.

You work in tandem, diving in to hold it up yourselves while workers rush in and pull people out. A boy cries and refuses to move from his friend’s body, curled up in a ball in the corner.

“Go!” you yell at the worker. “I got him—go, get out of here now!”

Kun utters your name in a question.

Metal groans and rumbles, the infrastructure seconds away from giving out—not enough support, even with you and Kun there. You strain against the weight of it, glass, and concrete, and metal bearing down on you.

“Go when I say,” you order.

One second, an eternity, then, “Okay.”

You meet the boy’s gaze. He looks no older than ten. Like Jay. Like you, when Krypton died.

“Go.”

You move exactly when Kun does, diving for the boy, wrapping your arms around him as the building finally collapses on itself. Knowing that if you stay here, you will be buried, and it will be that much harder to get out, to get him out safely, you go up. Curling yourself around him, making sure to cover his ears, you rip through metal and glass and concrete as it falls on you. It bounces off harmlessly on your skin, but you know it is very much not the same for the boy in your arms, so you keep him shielded as best as you can.

You keep rising up and up and up until—air. Debris and dust swirls around you. Beneath you, the building gives its last breath, crumbling to the ground. You can hear the wind whistle as Kun moves people out of the way. The clamoring of others further down the street as they watch with bated breath. In your arms, the boy’s trembles. But his heart thumps soundly in your ears, lungs expanding with each breath he takes. You smell no blood in the air and when you ease your grip on him, using your X-ray vision, you find no broken bones, either.

“Where are they?” someone calls.

Wind whips against you, Kun pushing out a current to dissipate the debris and dust swirling around you and blocking their and your vision. You lift your head. You finally glimpse the people on the ground, and they see you, too. Their cheers are thunderous. The boy jolts at the sound, sniffling, and finally lifting his head and looking at you.

“Are you okay?”

Sniffling again, he looks at you for a moment, then, slowly he nods.

No one was able to save Krypton. You. Your parents. Your friends. Your people. Earth was always, first and foremost, a safe haven.

You’ll go to earth, your mother had told you when there was no hope left, when she had no choice but to send you away. They’ll take care of you. Your parents hadn’t ever left Krypton. What they did have of earth were mere snapshots. But they had faith—implicit faith in the possibility of a kinder life with a people who would accept you.

On some days, it feels like this wish is nothing more than a fantasy. On others, you know with everything inside you, it is true.

But your parents had believed in them, in humanity, in earth, their final hope for you. A safe haven.

Your powers, the mantle of Supergirl, the legacy of Superman, were an afterthought. But still remnants of that faith. You will always believe in humanity, in the fact that goodness is intrinsic to all beings, and this includes them. They will fight and they will hurt but you could never possibly lose faith in them, in the prospect of a better tomorrow, and when they needed help, when they needed saving, you will always be there for them.

But… as you touch down, passing the boy to the arms of his sobbing—grateful, so grateful it hurts your heart and makes your throat tight—father, people clapping you on the back, thanking you, cameras on you, pictures being taken, Kun’s face in your peripheral, a little sad but mostly proud, happy, you find yourself thinking of Jaemin.

Even as Kun tells you to go home for a few hours and rest, since you’ve mitigated most of the serious damage from the quake. Even as you leave, the sun rising on San Francisco, which moves higher and higher in the sky as you fly east. It’s mid-morning, with clear skies and a hot day ahead in Metropolis when you arrive.

You find yourself landing on a rooftop of a building directly in front of the mural Renjun painted. The one you complimented him on all those weeks ago. You still stand by what you said—it is… warm, in a way that many depictions of you are not. It shows you mid-flight, a clear blue sky behind you, smiling down at something or someone, hand raised in a wave. It is seemingly so mundane but the warmth in your gaze is real and tangible. Enough so that, you imagine this truly must be what you look like when you wave at people while flying.

The door to the rooftop creaks open. Jaemin’s heart is steady in your ears. Something inside you unwinds at the sound. You continue to gaze at the mural as he walks over to you. The air shifts when he’s close to you, body heat tangible only to you, vestiges of vanilla and vetiver shampoo tickling your nose.

You look at him. If hearing his heartbeat soothed the bundle of emotions in your chest, then seeing his face finally, for the first time since the quake hit, makes you relax. It’s only been four days and his face is ingrained in your memory but it’s nothing like seeing the real thing in person—the messy strands of his dark hair, the dark brown of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the swell of his cheeks, the pink of his lips.

In your chest, your heart skips a beat.

He drops his gaze, flipping open the flap of his bag and digging for something. Plastic crinkles. Something white peeks out from his bag. He pulls out a single wipe and lifts it to you. You step closer. An unspoken answer or perhaps an unspoken wish, one he seems to have no quarrel fulfilling for you in this moment.

The wipe is cool against your cheek, clean smelling. Jaemin’s touch is heart-achingly gentle.

“You’re dusty,” he murmurs.

“Thank you.”

A minute shake of his head. He gently drags the wipe over the swell of your cheek, underneath your eye. His heart is beating faster now. Still a sweet song to your ears.

After a minute, after moving the wipe to your other cheek, he says, quietly, “You are right. We need you. We need Supergirl. It’s just…”

“It seems bleak. But it isn’t. Not really.”

“Isn’t it?”

You smile. “Atlas… his duty was a punishment. This is a responsibility that can fall to no one else but my cousin and me. But it is one I accept gladly.” You reach for his hand, cradling it in your own; your thumb grazes the back of his slowly, savoring the feeling. “And more than that… I am not alone. I have a family, Jaemin. I have people who I love and who love me. I have kind strangers and even reckless but passionate and good-hearted journalists,” and you dare to squeeze his hand here, watching as the furrow between his brow softens and his gaze does the same thing, “I believe in the goodness of humans. This is not a punishment. Not to me.”

The wipe in his hand flutters to the ground. He turns his hand, until your palms are pressed together. A moment, then he tugs. In the next second, his arms are around you and yours are around him.

You’ve felt the burning heat of stars and supernovas. It’s an out-of-control kind of heat, a wild kind; the reality of the harshness of space, but one you can survive, albeit with mild discomfort. Humans, in spite of this and in spite of their tripled vulnerability, seek out such things—wish to explore interstellar space on a mission of curiosity and exploration, even if it might hurt them.

Jaemin’s embrace is nothing like that. Searing, yes, because of the differences in your temperatures, the sensitivity of your skin, but this is the kind of heat you sink into, that soothes you, that comforts you; the kind you could slip away peacefully in. Your heart is pounding now. You hope he can’t feel it but since you can feel his—hear it, too—pounding away in his chest, you know he can feel yours, too, pounding in wild tandem.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. You know. He understands.

“No, no, I got it, Kun. The mom seemed a little surprised to see me, but it wasn’t an issue.”

“Great. Thanks for doing this, by the way. I would’ve picked it up but it’s my turn to cook dinner tonight and I got a late start…”

Setting Jay’s Spider-Man themed backpack to the side, you quickly change into your suit, having flown that way to Jay’s friend’s house to grab his backpack for him.

You hear Jay’s voice from the receiver next, your name in a question.

Kun hums an affirmative.

“You can play with my Jenga if you want!”

You chuckle, setting off, coasting higher than you usually do to avoid people seeing you and your cargo.

“Thanks, kiddo. Appreciate it.”

“Dinner’s almost done,” Kun says to him. “Go wash up, please.”

A soft huff. “If you want to talk to her alone, you could just ask, Dad…”

A snort escapes you unbidden.

Kun sighs but it’s fond. “Okay, I need to speak to your aunt alone and you need to go wash your hands.”

“Okie dokie!”

Never mind that ‘alone’ no longer existed for the three of you anymore, but according to Jay, it was quite easy to phase out the extra noise and just focus on whatever he’s doing so as to not overwhelm himself or encroach on anyone else’s privacy. It’s a very Kun thing of him to do—and say. Not that you don’t try to do that, but you also lack a social life, so, you admit to being a bit nosier than he is and sometimes shamelessly listening to people’s conversations.

“What’s up?”

“Have you… seen Jaemin since yesterday?”

You frown. “No? What happened yesterday?”

Yesterday, you weren’t even on earth—you were up in space, fixing something on the International Space Station at the request of NASA. Too treacherous of a job for the astronauts on board and too big of a problem to be left alone for the time being. So, they’d asked you. You actually had a quite pleasant conversation with the astronauts on board. You had to decontaminate afterward—deadly rays from the sun and space and all that—so you only got back to Metropolis late into the evening, showering, eating dinner, then promptly crashing.

“You hear about Congressman Wilkins?”

You did in fact hear about Congressman Wilkins—the US House Rep for Metropolis. Newly elected. Apparently, he’d spent almost a million of the campaign funds he received on personal expenses like private jet flights, vacations, and a new house. When the story broke, he tried to leave the city and the police chased him down. He ended up in a nasty accident with a fuel truck and died. The truck driver barely made it out, too.

“Well,” Kun goes on, “Jaemin was the one to break the story that morning, after tipping off the police. He was there on the scene, too.”

Your flight slams to an abrupt halt. “Is he okay? Did—”

“He’s fine. Physically. It’s just… I don’t know. I just have a feeling…” Kun sighs. “With this stuff, sometimes, well, a lot of the time, you feel a sense of responsibility. Even if it’s not really your fault.”

“…Yeah. Yeah, I get that. Okay. I’ll… see him.”

“No pressure, really, I’m thinking I’m gonna talk to him on Monday, anyway, but—”

“No,” you say. “I should. He’s… I should.”

“Alright. Take your time with Jay’s backpack, then. He doesn’t need it until Monday.”

“Right, yeah.”

The call ends with a click. You tuck your phone away, grip tightening absently on the backpack, one strap slung over your shoulder. Downtown Metropolis glimmers ahead of you in the late afternoon sunlight; the sun will be setting soon.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and focus. In a city of five million, on a planet of seven billion, Jaemin’s heart is easy to pick out. You let it guide you to the roof of the Daily Planet.

“Mind some company?”

The distant look on his face melts away when he looks at you. Slowly, he shakes his head. You close in. The wind that ruffles your cape ruffles his dark hair, loose over his forehead today; you’ve never quite seen him this relaxed, in jeans and a t-shirt. Something about it makes your heart pick up. You swallow down the feeling and let your feet touch the concrete of the roof.

Dark eyes slide to the backpack slung over your shoulder, eyebrow raising in a silent question.

“Nephew’s,” you answer, only a little bit embarrassed. “He forgot it at a friend’s house.” Setting the backpack down between you, you sit beside him; the nearest buildings are not tall enough for anyone else to see and Kun has long since looped the feeds of the cameras up here that way he has a place to change in and out.

He hums, then returns his gaze to the yellowing horizon. The silence that falls between you is not an awkward one, exactly, but something is there that unsettles you. Since your… moment on the roof in front of Renjun’s mural, things have been better, if not a little odd, between you two. New footing, you figure. Not that you were ever really annoyed or exasperated with Jaemin’s penchant for trouble (though you’re sure you can’t quite say the same for him with you), but your dynamic had, more or less, always been set in stone. Things are different now.

You’re still trying to figure out if it’s a good different or a bad different. For now, he seems so melancholic that you stow away those thoughts and reach for Jay’s backpack.

“Wanna play Jenga?”

Jaemin blinks at you. You don’t waver in the face of his bewilderment, suddenly quite sure this is the way to go for this.

A second passes, then he nods slowly. You waste no time in pulling out the container of Jenna, pushing Jay’s backpack behind you and dumping the Jenga blocks in the space between you. You start fixing the tower of Jenga blocks one by one.

When it’s halfway finished, Jaemin asks, “Why don’t you use your speed to do it?”

“Less fun.”

“Really?”

Pursing your lips thoughtfully, you keep your eyes on the slowly growing Jenga tower. “There’s something to be said about taking your time and enjoying it. Even for the boring stuff. I mean, when it comes to washing dishes, water doesn’t do that great with super speed, so that’s kind of null, and sometimes, I don’t want to deal with folding my laundry that slowly, but most of the time…” you shrug. “I take my time.”

“Sounds mind-numbing.”

You laugh softly. “It’s… really not. Life already passes me by so quickly—I have to take my time.”

“Isn’t it the opposite?”

You finish the tower and look up at him with a smile. “You go first.”

Mouth flattening into a line of displeasure at you not answering his question—you would, but it’s not about you right now and that topic… well, you don’t sense it would help him right now—he moves anyway, letting out a big breath, then reaching for a block in the middle. He pulls it out cleanly and sets it on the top of the stack.

You go next, taking your time as you pick one out from a little bit towards the top end and set it beside his. For a few minutes, that’s what you do, going back and forth, pulling out blocks from the body of the tower and stacking the top. It’s your turn, aiming for a block in the third row from the bottom—the most treacherous move thus far—when he next speaks.

“I’m fine, you know. If that’s why you’re here.”

“It is,” you say. “And it’s fine if you aren’t, too. What Wilkins did was terrible, but he didn’t deserve to die. But that he died at all, that everything happened yesterday, wasn’t your fault, either. He’d have panicked regardless of whether the story was broken or not because I’m quite sure any other journalist would shake it out of some cop while it was going down. Maybe it would’ve been you, maybe it would’ve been Lina Dhar-Qian. Who knows? But I have a feeling the outcome would’ve been the same, anyway.”

You successfully pull out the block. But you have an advantage with your powers. You can sense the slightest of movements and adjust accordingly; stop if it trembles, keep going if it’s stable. Jaemin, terribly human, for the better and for the worse, does not have such an advantage. He aims for a block from the second to bottom. You sense the tremble before it happens; he only gets it halfway out before it tumbles.

Sighing, his fingers curl around the block still in his palm. “He had a family.”

“Yes, he did.”

“This isn’t what I wanted to do when I decided to work here.”

“Why did you?”

Jaemin looks out at the Metropolis skyline, wind ruffling his hair, looking startlingly, heartbreakingly, lost.

“I was in med school, before I came here. In Korea. One of the best—and the most expensive—programs in the country. My friend was in the program, too. The first two years were for the basics, for the textbook stuff. Then, in our third, we started clinical training. I had expectations for what it would be like, what the students in the years above us would say to us, what the advisors said, and the professors said. But it was nothing like that. It was… it wasn’t what I thought it was.”

You stay quiet, watching him.

“The way they did things,” he says quietly. “It was just what was on paper—the disease or the problem that brought them here. Find a solution and fix it. Or don’t, and let them know. Then your job is done. It wasn’t… kind. It was brutal. It was ‘reality,’ they said. People started to drop the program. My friend held on. But I could see… he and everyone else was fine with letting go of whoever they’d been before we started in order to become the best of the class. I wasn’t.”

He finally turns to look at you. “I thought I could do it differently. But it wasn’t what they wanted. It wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to help people. I wanted to be there for them. They told me it was impossible to do that, that I’d end up killing myself by caring too much. I still don’t know if that’s true, but I did know that I couldn’t keep going like that.”

He lets out a sigh. “You have no idea how hard my mom worked to put me into school. And just like that, when it got too hard, I wasted it. I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t face anyone. I took the first flight out of the country and ended up in San Francisco.” The snort he lets out is derisive. “Didn’t know any English but I knew my way around a camera and started doing photojournalism for a local newspaper. I still wanted to help people, you know. It wasn’t until I started seeing what the journalists did—what Lina Dhar-Qian did—that I realized that was another way I could do it.

“So, to answer your question—I want to help people. I have to. What happened yesterday wasn’t that. It was the furthest thing from it. He may have been an idiot with his campaign funds, and the people he scammed deserved to know what he was doing, but he also didn’t deserve to die.”

No. He didn’t. Jaemin lets out a shaky exhale. You wonder if he’s told anyone about this since it happened. You have the strongest, heartbreaking feeling that this is the first time ever. The sun is starting to set now, washing everything in gold.

“Do you know how old I am, Jaemin?”

Confusion seems to bring Jaemin back down to earth as he frowns at you, clearly thrown off by the abrupt topic change but willing enough to go along with it. “I… No. I always assumed you were around my age.”

“I am, technically. But I’m also technically around thirty-five.”

His eyes widen. You can’t help it—you laugh.

“Just listen. Technically, I am around that age. But physically, biologically, mentally, I’m your age. During my… travels to earth, I ended up too close to a black hole. The gravity around black holes is so strong, it stretches the fabric of time and space—slows it down. What was an hour near the black hole—a terribly long and boring story, I assure you—was… ten years on earth. The rest of my trip here took even longer on top of that. When I left Krypton,” you swallow past the burst of pain in your throat; you rarely ever say its name out loud, there is no good reason to; reminiscing about it makes Kun feel bad and that makes you feel even worse, “my cousin, Superman, was just a baby. But he had left before me. And when I got here, he was a grown adult.”

Jaemin takes in your words quietly, eyebrows furrowed.

You push past the emotions, trying for a small smile. “So, going back to your earlier question—it’s not the opposite.”

“What is?”

“Life does pass me by quickly. I wish it didn’t. Rao, I really do. But…” you lift a hand, sun rays painting your skin warmly, “as long as Sol fuels me, I’ll have no choice but to sit back and watch my life and the life of my family pass me by. Same with the rest of the world. Time will touch them. But it’ll leave me alone.”

You drop your hand, shaking your head slightly. “I won’t be alone. But in some ways, that’s worse. And who even knows what’ll happen to my nephew? For now, he ages like a human boy, but… I don’t know if he’ll live long enough to see his family—his mom—die. And I don’t know if I’ll have to watch him die, either. If his father will have to watch him die.” You sigh. “And no parent… deserves to watch their child die.”

Jaemin is still beside you. You look at him.

“Time is cruel. But there is nowhere else I’d rather be than here. I watched my planet and my people die. I watched my father die. I know it’ll kill me when my friends and family pass away. But at least I had the time with them—an entire lifetime, hopefully. That’s why I like to take my time.”

He swallows. “I’m sorry.”

You take his hand. “I’m sorry, too. For yesterday. And everything before that.”

He looks at your adjoined hands, frowning. “I made my choices. I need to live with them.”

“Do you?”

“I’ve already wasted one opportunity. I can’t waste this one.”

“It sounds like this is a punishment for you, then.”

“It’s not.”

“Then why haven’t you spoken to your mom?”

“You don’t know that I haven’t.”

You squeeze his hand.

Jaemin sighs. “And disappoint her more? I don’t think so.”

“Is she the reason why you want to help people?”

A slow nod.

“Then I think you might be doing a disservice to her by thinking that,” you say gently. “By all means, take what I say with a grain of salt—I know nothing about her and it’s definitely not my place but… oh, I don’t know. I’m—I watched my father die. I know my mother died after she sent me off to earth. It’s not fair to you to use my life as a comparison but really, Jaemin, I would…” You swallow, throat painfully tight, eyes stinging. “I would kill just to have a few more minutes with them. Anything. I miss so much about Krypton. But I miss them the most.”

His hand loosens from yours. Then his thumb swipes over your cheek, catching a tear. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. You sigh, composing yourself, then start to pick up the fallen Jenga blocks, putting them away. You figure you’ve reached your quota of meddling in his business tonight. Putting the container away and zipping the bag up, you stand. Jaemin follows.

“It’s not presumptuous.”

His words stop you short and you look at him, eyebrows furrowing. “What isn’t, Jaemin?”

“What you said before,” he says, looking at you. “When we saw that mural. Not Renjun’s. The other one.”

The memories of that day and your talk with Jaemin slingshots to the forefront of your mind.

“This is presumptuous on my end. And truthfully, I would rather not know that fact and pretend that you do actually care about this—me (like I said, presumptuous)—but this is how things are.”

“You should know that,” he says. “It’s not presumptuous. It’s really not.”

“I’m starting to see that,” you admit with a soft laugh. “But thank you for telling me directly anyway. It’s nice to hear. While we’re on the topic of saying things that need to be said, there’s something else I want you to know.”

Jaemin looks troubled for a moment before the expression is put away and he nods for you to go on.

“It’s pretty implicit that I’m there for you, even if you aren’t in physical danger, but, inside that and out of it… if you need anything, you can call me. I will come.”

“Call… you?”

“I’ll hear you,” you say and it’s then that he understands.

The weight of his gaze now is too much. You look away, coughing. “I… just need you to know that, too. If you call me… I’ll come.”

Saying it out loud changes things. A tension that wasn’t there before lingers in the air. But you had to say it. He cares. He felt the need to emphasize that. He should know you care, too.

(Not just care, either. There’s a lot more behind it. You know that. It’s been a slow growing thing but—from the start, Na Jaemin did not leave you alone. He lingered with you, even when he seemed to not want anything to do with you. In that space, he’s grown on you—or rather, you’ve started to see him for who he is.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. But it’s not bad. Not bad at all.)

“Get home safe, alright?”

You don’t wait around for his response, lifting off the ground, breeze catching your cape. Again, as you leave, you feel his gaze on you until you’re out of his field of vision, swallowing down the longing in your chest.

“You didn’t have to do it tonight, you know,” Kun says when he steps onto the balcony of his and Lina’ apartment.

“Maybe I just wanted to steal your ice cream.”

You pass him Jay’s backpack, following him inside, closing the balcony door behind you. Water runs in the pipes, Lina humming in the shower, Jay sleeping soundly in his room. Kun leaves the backpack near the front door, then beelines for the refrigerator, opening the freezer. Too lazy to change out of your suit and knowing Lina’s rules about suits on the couch, you slump in a chair at the small table in the kitchen.

He sets down a carton of your favorite ice cream in front of you, along with a spoon, then sits down across from you, with a carton of vanilla for himself. You pop off the lid of the carton and dig in. You didn’t have ice cream on Krypton. No cows of any kind at all, actually. Great what humans have invented with dairy products. Really.

“So… Jaemin.”

“Mm, he’s alright. Sort of what you thought he’d be feeling like, but we had a nice talk about it, so I think he’ll be okay.”

Kun chuckles quietly. “I didn’t doubt that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then?”

He just looks at you with a small, knowing smile.

“Kun.”

“What? I’m not doing anything.”

“Sure you aren’t.” You sigh. You know what he’s getting at and truthfully, you see no point in denying it, either. But the consequences of it are something else entirely. You can’t just think about yourself here. Not for this.

Kun leans back. “What’s stopping you?”

“This.” You gesture a hand to the apartment. Lina’s laptop open on the coffee table, drafts stacked next to it marked up with red pen. A book with a bookmark sticking out the top. Jay’s drawings pinned on the walls. “It’s not just about me.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not, Kun. If—if I tell Jaemin who I am, it’s going to be so much easier for him to realize who you are, too. Not even just easier—it’s inevitable, that he finds out.”

“I know,” he says. “And that’s fine. But it is just about you because I trust you and if you trust Jaemin, I know you’re trusting him with everything. So, there’s no reason to worry.”

The worst part is—you know he’s right. You shovel more ice cream into your mouth to avoid answering right away. Because, if there is that, then… what next? Do you even know if Jaemin really truly likes you? Enough to consider seeing you that way? You aren’t under any impressions about the way some people view you—you do good things but you’re not like everyone else at the end of the day. Not human. Not normal. Not to mention the danger he’d be in if he associated with you.

“I have experience with this,” he says next, tone thoughtful. “Saying I’m the precedent sounds a little conceited, but I think in this regard, it is, well… true. I went through what you’re going through. Like realizing that I’d have to give everything up to her. But, it was more than that. It was wanting to. It’s not impossible to date as simply you and avoid telling whoever they are about what you are and what you do.”

A soft look crosses his face. “But I didn’t want to settle for that. Maybe, for some time, but then it would come down to whether I would be okay with, essentially, living a lie or breaking things off. With Lina… the thought had crossed my mind, especially because I knew her just as well as Qian Kun as I did Superman, but the thing was… I wanted her to know. Does that make sense?”

You nod.

“But,” he goes on, “your case is a little bit different in that you know him better as Supergirl than you do as yourself.”

“It doesn’t change it,” you say quietly. “I do want to. Tell him, I mean. I think I’d want it even if I knew him as myself and not as Supergirl. I guess now, it’s a little more imperative that I do, because it’s not even remotely sustainable to date him as Supergirl. And even if it was, I wouldn’t—I don’t want to do him that disservice.”

Kun has a soft, proud look on his face that makes you look away.

“You don’t need my help,” he says. “You don’t need my permission. This is yours. All of it. You’ve got it. If you want it, that is.”

Warmth floods your face. You don’t answer that.

Want it? You want it with everything inside of you. Every cell and every atom. It is selfish, though, even despite what Kun says, because he may be okay with revealing himself, but the danger Jaemin would be in shouldn’t be understated.

But… it’s like Kun said. He is the precedent. And if you look at him and Lina now… It would be more than worth it.

For you, that is. For Jaemin? That… well, that’s the question, isn’t it?

It’s so much easier to think about these things in theory than it is practice. You know this, because the next day, you see Jaemin during one of your patrols and when he waves at you, you sort of… panic.

You wave back, of course, it would be impolite not to, but there is this one painful second where you hesitate and you know that he definitely probably noticed and when that knowledge finally sinks in, you cannot get out of there fast enough, making a frantic mime about something going on to him (nothing is going on, obviously), then booking it out of there.

It is, truthfully, humiliating. It’s not how you wanted it to go. What is it, one may ask? Well, you aren’t sure of it yourself. But just because you had that conversation with Kun, just because the possibility is suddenly on the table—it shouldn’t change anything in the meantime. If anything, it is imperative that nothing changes until you try and parse out what he might potentially feel for you.

The thing is—Jaemin is so… impervious. It’s hard to figure out what might go on in that pretty head of his. Feelings of this nature are even more so. The solution is obvious, then, that you should ask him—but that’s… not easy, either. Feelings are not easy.

Regardless of that issue, though, you do want to try and be… well. Normal around him. And about him. It’s hard but surely not impossible. You can be normal around a guy you like. You can!

So, a few days later, when you see him again, that’s your main objective. Well, actually, it’s in the middle of a search for some guy with a gun, street filled with mild panic, officers trying to get people inside, you and Kun trying to find this guy before something happens—because something always happens—and Jaemin is not really cooperating.

“Jaem, you really have to get inside—”

“I will,” he says, yet he has a hand latched belligerently to your cape, quite literally on your heels as you scan the buildings surrounding you. “But I just have one question—”

“It really can’t wait?”

He’s downright petulant when he says, “No.”

“Jaemin—”

He presses on. “What you said—when I said it wasn’t presumptuous for you to think I care, and you said I’m starting to see that—did you think I didn’t like you?”

Nothing, you’re getting nothing, is this a false alarm or is the guy gone? On the other end of the street, you hear Kun say, “I’m getting nothing.”

You mutter the same, then redirect your attention to Jaemin. “It’s not like you’ve ever been very forthcoming with me—which is fine. I know there’s the issue of your own capability, which, I know you can take care of yourself, believe me—”

“That’s not—”

This is a terrible time and place to have this conversation but—so be it.

“It’s alright, lots of humans have that issue, they don’t want to be seen as weak—which, there’s nothing wrong with, but nonetheless, I wouldn’t ever call you weak, or better yet, believe you need to be taken care of like that. Obviously I have to step in sometimes but in most others, you can take care of yourself. It’s just for my own peace of mind that I like to ensure that. And then there’s the, well, what I am and how others perceive me—”

“I am not others—”

Any other day and you would laugh at the indignant tone. “Well, no, not anymore, but in the beginning, you know, I get it—”

He’s tugging on your cape; you think it’s more out of indignation than wanting your attention, but you stop and turn anyway. The hot August sun beams down on you. Sweat beads at his hairline, hair slightly mussed from it and from what you can assume was him running his hands through it. His eyes are dark and unhappy. Not unhappy with you, though, you don’t think.

“No, I don’t like that—I’ve never not liked you because of what you are, I don’t care that you’re not human, why would I care about that?”

“A lot of people do,” you remind him semi-patiently.

“I get that, but that’s not me. I don’t care, I’ve never cared.” He’s quite impassioned about this. More than you thought he would be. You still aren’t sure what the purpose of this conversation is, either. You suppose, in some ways, it matters, but you’d hardly hold it against him. Most people would be leery. That’s fine. That’s just the way of the world. This world.

“I was… gruff with you, not necessarily because I didn’t like you. It’s just that—” the steam he had before is finally running out; he runs a rough hand through his hair, eyes looking anywhere but you.

“What?” you ask softly. The sudden smallness of this moment is out of place, standing on the sidewalk of the street, police cars crowding it, Kun and the officers still searching, still coming up empty. He really needs to get inside—you need to him inside. But right after this. You need to hear this first and you think… he has to say it.

“I was like that with you… because you reminded me of myself.”

You go very still. Jaemin’s gaze meets yours. Though slightly pained and more than a little embarrassed, his eyes are softer than before.

“The way you were… what we’ve gone through is in no way comparable. You lost everything. But—despite that…”

You don’t know what to say. No, wait, you do—you want to say he’s like that, too, despite what he thinks of himself, and you have the strongest sense that he thinks he’s some kind of… failure, for the decisions he’s made, and you don’t think this is true at all. Despite stumbling so much, he still believed.

You open your mouth to say this—knowing inside you that this is a terrible place and time to have this conversation, yet all the more important, especially considering his apparent sense of urgency to make it clear that he never disliked you, a thought that makes your chest fill with warmth.

But you don’t get to. You hear the bullet before you see it. Time slows down, but not as fast as it needs to. Whoever shot it is close. All you can do is move Jaemin out of the way and deflect it yourself.

Your hands are still on his shoulders when everything comes back into play, when the shot finally registers with the humans, officers unholstering their guns, ducking for cover. He flinches, shuddering, but not jarred since you only moved him a few inches to the left.

“What—”

Any kind of response to him gets stuck in your throat. Your vision blurs around the edges. Heat spreads through your shoulder. You touch it instinctively. Something slick and warm coats your fingers. You look at it.

The sight of blood on your fingers shocks you. No, you’d—you moved Jaemin out of way, didn’t you?

He’s looking, too, eyes wide. “Hey…”

Oh. It’s your blood. The bullet is made of Kryptonite.

Your vision swims. Your legs buckle but Jaemin catches you, lowering you both to the ground. A bullet whizzes past you. He curses up a storm.

Your senses go haywire, sounds blurring in and out of your ears. You can hear everything in the city in one second and in the next, all you can hear is your own heartbeat, pounding in your ears. You feel weak, washed-out; you’re shaking, chest stuttering with each breathe you take, as if your lungs are fighting the air you breathe.

“Hey, hey! Bring her in here!”

The sun is too bright. You close your eyes. The swaying motion makes you nauseous, like your heart is trying to crawl up your throat. Everything starts to fade in and out. Something presses against the bullet wound hard. A tiny thrum of pain that had started in your shoulder, kryptonite poisoning your cells and atoms, amplifies from the pressure—the actual hole in your shoulder combined with the effects of kryptonite against you.

Voices overlap, panicked, harsh.

Bile threatens to rise up. You swallow it down.

“—doctors or nurses here?”

“I need—”

A stuffy heat envelops you. Fingers brush against your cheek. You can’t hear Jaemin’s heartbeat. Why can’t you hear his heartbeat? All you can hear is what’s happening around you. This is what you used to be like—on Krypton, underneath the warmth of a red sun, rendering you effectively human.

“Okay, I’m going to—”

A hand—Jaemin’s, you know this intuitively—touches yours for a brief moment and a squeeze is all the warning you get before the tweezers go digging into your flesh.

A fire eats at your shoulder, in your skin, in your bones, in the tendons and muscles. The flames spread, into your chest, into your belly. All you can hear is the pound of your heart, beating so hard it feels like it’ll shred itself to pieces. It’s killing you, poisoning you. It hurts.

“—not breathing—”

“—hospital—”

Darkness creeps in on you, an alluring embrace that you sink into.

And you’ll do anything to take the pain away.

You wake feeling empty.

The feeling of the pain, the kryptonite, eating away at you from the inside out is imprinted in your memory. When you sit up and move your arm, you expect pain—but get nothing instead. It’s fine. You’re fine.

“I know,” comes your cousin’s quiet words. “It’s jarring, isn’t it?”

He shuts the book he was reading, setting it on the side table. You’re in your apartment, in your bedroom, out of your suit and into a t-shirt and pajama pants.

“Weird,” you mutter, hand sliding beneath the collar of your shirt. Your fingers find the spot where the bullet was, ghosting at first, some odd part of your brain fearing pain, but then you press down and feel nothing but the fleshy give of your skin, muscles and tendons beneath. It’s fine. Not even a scar left behind, skin still smooth and unmarred.

You drop your hand back into your lap, turning to look at Kun. “Jaemin?”

“He’s fine. Safe.”

You relax at that, allowing yourself to ask the big question. “What happened?”

He crosses his arms, jaw clenching for a moment before saying, “Merc. Refused to say who hired him, though we can probably make an educated guess. Not happy that we—I—couldn’t get a solid answer out of him, although the police were able to get half a million from him—the incentive he was given, with the other half delivered presumably after he did his job, which, luckily, he didn’t.”

“Only halfway,” you muse. “Fair to call it a lose-lose, I think. Guy’s in jail, no more money. And whoever hired him is half a million out. Though I guess if you’ve got a million laying around, ready to be spent on a poor attempt to kill us, then maybe that part doesn’t matter so much…”

Kun says your name, exasperated.

“Sorry. Too soon?”

“You passed out and lost a lot of blood,” he says. “Yes, it’s too soon.”

“Speaking of,” you turn, throwing your legs over the edge of the bed. “How long have I been out for?”

“Five or so hours. Had to get that kryptonite out of your system even after they removed the bullet.”

“They?”

“Doctor at the cafe you were in. She was the one to do it. I got you out of there.”

You frown. “The bullet—”

“It was with Jaemin. I… had a feeling he’d defend it with his life, so I left it.”

You wrinkle your nose, not quite on board with the prospect of him defending anything with his life, even for that kryptonite bullet.

“He’s fine,” Kun says, watching your face intently. “Handed it off to Lina, who will dispose of it through the proper channels.”

You nod, taking a deep breath, reacclimatizing yourself further. A lot happened, but you feel… okay. Thanks to Sol, anyway. And if you’re okay… well. You have something to do next, don’t you?

“You’re gonna go to him, aren’t you?”

“Do you think I shouldn’t?”

“No,” Kun says. “I think it’s about time.”

You chuckle softly. “I don’t disagree with you.”

Especially because—you remember vividly what you and Jaemin had been talking about before you got shot. You can’t imagine how he must feel now. Rao knows if you had to watch him get hurt… You cut the thought short and stand. The wood floorboards of your apartment are cool underneath your bare feet. Kun stands, too.

“Be careful, please.”

You get the sense he isn’t just talking about your physical well-being here. But… you don’t know. You don’t think Jaemin is going to be the one to break your heart tonight.

“I will be.”

He kisses your head, squeezing your arm. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Tell Jay and Lina I say hi.”

“I will.”

Kun sends you a smile, then he’s gone. You really don’t want to get suited up tonight—not to mention your main suit, which is folded neatly on your dresser, courtesy of Kun, you’re certain, has a bullet hole in it and is still stained with blood. You have a backup, an older version, but—you don’t want to come to him as Supergirl. You want to go to him as you. Yourself. So, you leave it there and grab one of your hoodies, slipping it over your head.

Then—you’re gone, too.

Metropolis is quiet at midnight. Skyscrapers shine in the night, clouds hanging low, turning lights into blurred smudges. You rise above the clouds, finding a pocket of space. The clear midnight blue sky stretches out ahead of you, full moon beaming down upon you. Ahead of you, a plane that just took off parts through the clouds, lights blinking on the wings. You follow it east until you come upon a familiar neighborhood, diving through another open space between the moving clouds. The moon and the clear sky disappear as the ground appears.

A familiar heartbeat echoes in your ears. Calm and steady. You swallow down a burst of emotion, pinpointing where it is, picking out which apartment is his when you come upon a five-story brick building.

You land quietly on his balcony. The curtains over the sliding door are drawn, leaving you to hesitate—no one likes hearing a knock on their balcony doors and it would be just your luck that you might scare Jaemin into an early grave by doing that—

A sudden sound.

“Holy shit—”

A dark grey cat with yellow eyes jumps onto the balcony, slipping through the metal fencing. Without pause and without fear, it hisses at you, back hair standing sharply on end.

You hold up your hands. “Woah…”

The balcony door slides open quickly. Jaemin pokes his head out, doing a double take at the sight of you.

“Hi. Your cat doesn’t like me.”

“He’s not mine,” he says, stepping out, can of Fancy Feast held in hand. “Dali’s a stray. I have no idea how he keeps getting all the way up here, but I figured I might as well feed him while he’s here.”

He sets the can of food on the ground. The cat—Dali—hisses at you, ignoring Jaemin’s quiet scold in Korean (then English), and dives in, eating for a moment, looking up to hiss at you again, and then going back to eating. You watch him warily.

“Out of everything,” Jaemin says, bemused, “a cat is what scares you?”

“I have great respect for cats as creatures, that’s all. Also—I’m invulnerable but my clothes aren’t.”

He shakes his head. “He won’t do anything. He’s… all hiss, no bite.”

“Ah.”

Jaemin glances around, then reaches for you; you suppress a full-body shudder as his hand, so very warm, wraps around your wrist, tugging lightly. “You should come inside.”

Rendered speechless by the sudden contact—and him initiating that contact—you have no choice but to nod and let him pull you inside. The curtain flutters back into place when he closes the sliding door again. You kick off your sneakers, leaving them by the door.

“So,” you start, ignoring the racket that your heart is making in your chest right now, “you’re okay, right?”

Jaemin gives you such an incredulous look that you have to suppress a laugh. “I’m okay? You’re asking me if I’m okay?”

“Yes? I mean, in fairness to myself, it was a… very stressful situation that we were in earlier—”

“You were the one that got shot.”

“…It doesn’t happen often, is the thing. At all, actually. That was my… first ever brush with kryptonite, if you can believe it. Superman tries very hard not to let me get exposed to it. Not really for the reasons you would think, either—I mean, yes, because kryptonite bad but that’s not really fair when you consider that he gets just as affected as I do but, um, it’s because—Krypton.”

“Krypton?”

Jaemin’s wearing cat socks. Space-themed. Space cats.

You chew on your bottom lip. “The core was unstable. Too much energy, nowhere to go. Argo City was the only one to survive, protected by its own atmosphere that my parents had helped create years before simply as an environmental measure. It helped shield us from the full force of the blast, but�� not enough. People still died in the initial blast. But then afterward… the parts of Krypton that were left, what we stood on, was… poisoning us. It was kryptonite. It killed my father first. Then the rest of the people in droves. I managed to escape it; I don’t know why. Didn’t matter anyway. It was going to kill us. It did.”

Jaemin’s apartment looks lived in, you think. He’s struggled with so much and yet, he seems to have made a home here despite that. You two really are the same, aren’t you?

“My mother didn’t want me to die,” you say quietly. “Even though she was starting to get sick from the radiation, she managed to pull together a ship for me, one last final shot for me to survive. I didn’t want to leave but I had to. So… my memories of Krypton in its final days aren’t great, you know? The sickness, the death. I’d gotten lucky and I’d never felt the effects of the kryptonite, there, and even here, at least up until now because… I think because he didn’t want me to know what it was like for them. For my parents. For everyone else.”

“I’d do the same,” Jaemin murmurs. “You shouldn’t have to know that kind of suffering.”

You shrug. “That’s life.”

“But not all of it.”

His hand is on yours now, palm sitting against your knuckles, thumb rubbing idly over your wrist.

Your lips twitch. “See?”

“What?”

You look up at him, meeting his eyes, wondering when he got so close. “You’re like me, too.”

“You think so?”

“I do. You still believe—you still have hope, despite everything. Just like me.”

Begrudgingly, reluctantly, you know he does. You get the sense that it would go against everything in him to lose that hope.

“Your influence, probably.”

You reach up to push lightly at his chest. “Own it, Jaemin.”

He chuckles. “Alright. Sorry.”

You shake your head.

“So…” You glance back at him, tilting your head as his previous smile falters a bit, a more serious look coming onto his face. “You’re… okay.”

Reluctantly, you let go of his hand, reaching for the hem of your hoodie to pull it over your head. He takes it from you, tossing it over the back of the couch a few feet from you. You push up the sleeve of your t-shirt, pushing it as far back as you can to reveal the skin of your shoulder, the area where the bullet hit, where a scar should be but is not, skin fully healed.

“Good as new.”

He stares and you get the feeling he’s remembering what it looked like more than anything else.

You don’t move when he lifts a hand, staying perfectly still as his fingers hover over the spot where, a few hours ago, you were shot and bleeding from. You can feel the heat of his hand even with that, swallowing. The action itself is fine. So is the area. But you don’t quite anticipate what it would feel like to have his hands anywhere else other than your own hands. At the first brush of his fingers, your arm twitches.

He pulls back, looking guilty. “Sorry—are you still—?”

“No,” you quickly say, warmth flooding your face. “No, it’s—it’s completely healed, promise. Doesn’t hurt. I’m just. Um. Super senses… heightened touch… sort of… sensitive to that… in general… Not really used to anyone other than my immediate family touching me just ‘cause no one really… as Supergirl, you know, the perception of me and my… alien-ness. Doesn’t make a lot of people desperate to get close to me.”

A strange emotion flits over Jaemin’s face. It’s gone too quickly for you to really decipher it. His touch returns, hand fully settling on your arm, thumb brushing over the area where the bullet was. You have to fight a full-body shiver at the touch. His hand is warm, soft, with a few callouses.

(You wonder where he got them from. Did he play any sports when he was younger?)

He still appears faintly troubled. You can’t say you don’t feel the same.

The distinction between you and Supergirl is a clear one—one that must exist, a necessity. Not just for your own safety, but because you (and Kun) also believe that most humans, especially the ones that don’t like you, wouldn’t like the thought of knowing you lived like they did, that at the end of the day, even with the power that the Sol gave you, you were just another person, another being like them trying to get through life. Some might be okay with it, like Renjun, who probably doesn’t consciously realize it, but sees you like anyone else. But others wouldn’t—they need something different. For some, Superman and Supergirl as mere protectors of earth, solemn guardians overseeing humanity. For others, like those in Metropolis, that, too, but also someone kind, someone who would help them save a cat stuck in a tree or help them find a lost dog.

But with Jaemin… maybe in the beginning, you tried to keep to that, to the polite and responsible hero, but he got under your skin far too quickly, and by now, by this point, after everything that happened, the lines are blurred. You feel more you than Supergirl. The only thing missing is your name.

All that’s left is to wonder how he sees it.

“But that’s fine,” you say in the next second. Jaemin’s hand leaves your arm, dropping to the side. A few streaks of blue ink stain his index and middle finger from the pen he must’ve been using earlier. “It’s what they need. To see us as… larger than life. If being disgusted at the thought of touching us goes with that, then… so be it.”

He purses his lips. You try not to linger on how pink they are, soft and plush.

“I don’t see you that way,” he mumbles.

Your pulse thunders in your ears. “I had wondered,” you admit.

Jaemin frowns. “After what I said—?”

You push gently at his chest. The heat of him is palpable even through his t-shirt and it lingers on your fingertips. “I thought you didn’t like me,” you remind him. “If you didn’t, you would have no reason to try and see me that way.”

“I had. From… pretty much the very beginning. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t weird at first but that was more my own issues than anything about you and you being Kryptonian. I just…”

“Have—had?—a chip on your shoulder. One that is valid, don’t get me wrong, but, you know.” You smile up at him.

“I wasn’t always like that—like this.”

You’ve seen it, rare bouts of playfulness that come out, usually taking your breath away. But the way he is now isn’t so bad, either. At least—as long as it’s without the pain and burden of what he left behind and what still hangs over him.

“But regardless of that,” he goes on. “It might be presumptuous to say this but… I think I’ve always seen you as you are.”

“It’s not,” you say quietly. “It’s—nice to be seen.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

The look on his face is soft, softer than you’ve ever seen it before—softer than when you’ve seen him pet stray cats and dogs during your patrols or talk to the neighborhood kids who play soccer in the street.

You’re effectively stripped bare now, knowing he sees you for you, but he’s still missing the final piece, the thing that’ll expose you for everything you are, the name you have, the name you were given. But what’s so bad about it? Maybe there is some part of you that fears being seen like that to the greater public, that needs a veneer of responsibility and duty preventing you from appearing too human. Too… feeling and thinking. It’s so much easier to get hurt like that. Here, now, you’re baring all the soft and fragile bits of you now—intentionally, purposefully. He saw it before, but you hadn’t known that. Now you do and you give him permission to carve out your heart if he wants it.

It’s like you said. It’s nice to be seen.

Your heart is thundering now but—so is his. He’s nervous. Just like you. The tips of his ears are red, a visible flush starting to creep into his cheeks. If he gets any closer to you, he’ll feel the warmth in your face, too.

“I don’t know how much you know,” you admit in a whisper. “If you’ve looked into it.”

“I meant what I said when I said I didn’t care about that.”

“Maybe it’s because you see everything you need to see and that’s enough… but it’s not enough for me. You have to know. I want you to know.”

He nods. You step closer, taking a deep breath. You’re almost dizzy with nerves, which is a real feat, since you physically can’t get dizzy.

Jaemin’s hands take yours, then slide up your arms. You breathe shallowly, overwhelmed at the simplest and gentlest of movements, but no one’s ever touched you like that before, no one that wasn’t your family. It’s a reassuring movement, you can tell, since your eyes aren’t on his face but on his shirt instead.

He squeezes your arms, whispering, “It’s okay.”

When he pulls you in, you go without resistance. His heart pounds beneath your ear. Warmth surrounds you, a nonsensical feeling of security found in his embrace because by all accounts, you are the one who can stand against nature and fight battles that humans cannot fight on their own. You are the one protecting. And yet…

A tension that never quite seems to leave your shoulders no matter what finally escapes you. One of his arms braces over your shoulder blades, the other diagonal across your back, hand finding a home at your waist. It’s almost terrifying how right it feels.

But the rightness of it, like this is what you’ve been searching the universe for, is what tips you over the edge.

You lean your cheek against his chest, his heart thrumming beneath your ear, and tell him your name. His arms tighten around you. He murmurs it back. At the sound of your name from his lips, you shiver, inhaling sharply, fingers balling the material of his t-shirt. The arm around your shoulder drops, moving, until his hand cups your cheek. Lightning sparks down your spine at the sensation. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Can I—?”

Strands of his hair tickles your forehead. You nod.

Jaemin’s lips are soft against yours. You’re trembling faintly, you realize, his arm tightening around you, pulling you closer, flush against him, both to keep you close and you think maybe also to keep you grounded. You move your lips tentatively. He doesn’t overwhelm you. Maybe keenly aware of how much this is for you. An onslaught on your senses. The scent of his shampoo, the warmth of his body, the heat of his mouth, the sound of his heart pounding in his chest, breathing shallow and unsteady as he tilts his head and your lips slot together even more perfectly.

Jaemin kisses you so gently, so tenderly, your heart aches.

You break for air—mostly for him. He leans his forehead against yours, breathing unsteady.

His thumb strokes the apple of your cheek. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a goodbye.”

“Not a goodbye. I’m not leaving. I’m not running away again. I’m here.”

You hug him. Bury your face in his neck and mold your body to his. He holds you back just as tightly.

And you know, neither of you is going anywhere.

Two months later “Where’s your shadow?” “Sorry?” Who is this one? You can’t remember his name. He’s been at the Daily Planet for a while, you know that much. You’ve seen him in the vicinity of Kun and Lina’s cubicles. He’s older, with rumpled clothes and elbow patches, looking at you with a raised eyebrow and an odd amount of antagonism. “Your shadow. Na.” “I wouldn’t know.” You do know. He’s at his apartment, washing dishes and grumbling to himself about you eating the last of his ice cream. He had wanted to come out, when news broke about some incident at City Hall, but you convinced him to leave this one. He only agreed if you bought more ice cream on the way back. “Can’t complain, I guess. Kid snatches up all the good stories, doesn’t leave anything for us.” Lina would disagree with that. You could just hear her saying, If you were good at your job, you’d find a good story. Jaemin would probably agree. You don’t say that. You don’t say anything, watching the gunmen get driven off in the back of the police cars. The reporter whose name you don’t remember eventually walks off, muttering to himself about favoritism. Your lips twitch. You should head back soon. It’s late and you’re tired, having assisted with a few wildfires in Australia. You just want to shower and eat ice cream and cuddle with Jaemin and watch soap operas. Before you go, though, the sound of your name stops you. Not your name, rather, but— “Supergirl?” An accent. Familiar. Stronger than Jaemin’s, that curls some of his intonations on certain words he speaks. He’s always complaining about your near photographic memory that is letting you pick up Korean faster than he picked up English. You turn. Then do a double take. You’ve seen pictures of Ms. Na. Jaemin has pictures of the two of them from his high school graduation, then a few outings together after that. You always get the sense he feels guilty that they never got one at his graduation from med school. The tall guy with her is familiar, too. Lee Jeno. Jaemin’s childhood best friend and the one who went to med school with him. Ms. Na is older, but not frail. Still, she looks a bit like a ghost standing there, Jeno hovering closely by her side. An air of desperation hangs over them, the kind that sobers you. You approach them. “How can I help you?” “You know my son,” she says simply, gazing at you with the same dark eyes that Jaemin has. “I do,” you say softly. His mother is still a sensitive topic these days. But you know he’s trying to muster up the courage to call her. To see her. Hell, maybe even fly back to Korea. Explain in person. He wants to. But it’s hard, isn’t it, going back, knowing you hurt the person you loved and who loved you back so much. “Can you… can we see him?” You look at them, Ms. Na, dressed in finely-pressed button-up and slacks, but slightly disheveled all the same, weary with the circles under her eyes. Jeno hovering close, unmistakably protective of her, but still clearly not untouched by the pain of Jaemin’s departure. Finally, you give them a small smile. “I think he would like that.”

Grocery bags dangle from your fingers as you fish out the key to Jaemin’s apartment. The TV is on, playing a sitcom. Three heartbeats—and another on the balcony, Dali having his dinner—ring out. Looks like Ms. Na and Jeno found their way here. Good. You’d texted Jaemin in warning and had heard his pulse skyrocket as soon as he read it. You had already shot into the sky when he texted you saying he was okay—that he would be okay. With great reluctance, you held back on going home and instead ran out to pick up the ice cream as promised.

Considering they’re all still here, Jeno and Jaemin talking in Korean, the former laughing at something and the latter joining, too, you assume it went as well as it could.

You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose, then step inside. Your boyfriend is on his feet before you’re even fully inside, taking the grocery bags from you. Instead of the usual kiss in greeting, he takes your hand, squeezing, brown eyes shining with a newfound energy and warmth. You pretend to use him for balance as you pull off your shoes, just to keep holding his hand.

He introduces you to Jeno, an embarrassing amount of affection dripping from his voice when he says your name and introduces you as his girlfriend. Jeno doesn’t seem to be aware or suspicious of anything, thankfully, and kindly greets you back. Ms. Na is another story entirely. Emerging from the guest bathroom evidently refreshed, though her eyes are still red, she appraises you carefully.

According to Jaemin, though he never tried to purposefully dig into your identity, because he ‘paid an embarrassing amount of attention to you prior to getting together’ he had noticed you, both when you’d pop into the office for lunch with Kun and Lina, and that one time when he ordered from Sleepless Bites. It’s not like he made any hard conclusions but—there was a sense of familiarity, even if you carried yourself very differently in each identity.

With the timing and the fact that Supergirl spent enough time around Na Jaemin to be noticeable by them, truthfully, you probably should’ve spent the night with Kun and Lina. Just to let their memory—her memory—of you weaken a little bit. But you can’t leave Jaemin alone for this. Even if they’ve apparently reconciled, at the end of the day… you have to be here for him.

Even if Ms. Na is looking at you intently, dark eyes gleaming with familiarity. But she says nothing about it, simply shaking your hand, hers warm in your grip.

“How long have you known each other?”

Jaemin glances at you. “For a while now. Almost a year, right?”

“Eight months,” you confirm.

She squeezes your hand, giving you a look you aren’t quite sure how to decipher but one that doesn’t alarm you, anyway. “I’m glad you were here for him.”

You smile faintly as Jaemin looks away, embarrassed. “Glad to be here.”

She lets you go. Jaemin waves for her to sit down, then heads for the kitchen. You follow him.

“So…?”

He sets the bag on the counter, then pulls out the cartons of ice cream. You take them, opening the freezer and finding places for them.

“Well, three years of radio silence isn’t going to be fixed in one good night.”

“But…?” Because there very much is a but here. Even if you’d been able to smell the salt of tears shed when you came in, there is a visible weight that has been lifted from his shoulder’s—from Ms. Na and Jeno, too. Not quite as desperate as they appeared earlier. They’d perhaps prepared for the worst—that Jaemin might turn them away for one final time. He had done the same—that neither his mother nor Jeno would take him back.

“But,” he goes on slowly, smile forming on his lips, “it’s a start.”

You are unable to stop a stupid grin from forming on your lips.

“It’s a start—a great start—you’re exactly right—I’m so proud of you, you know—mmpf!”

He crushes you to him, kissing you long and hard, like he’s trying to steal the breath from your lungs. Which is, unfortunately, not physically possible for you as a Kryptonian. Actually—as nice as this is, his hands on your hips, lips warm against yours—

You gently push at his chest, a reminder about air. One that he needs because you swear, it’s like he’s trying to beat you at holding your breath, but again—human who needs air to breathe and live, Kryptonian who technically doesn’t (but admittedly breathing has become a habit for you, one that’s uncomfortable to shed).

Jaemin doesn’t budge until you push a little more and he finally pulls away.

“Your lungs are going to shrivel up and die if you keep doing that.”

He smiles and kisses you again. “That’s not medically possible.”

“Well, that’s where you’re headed if you keep that up.”

Forehead against yours, eyes shut with a content smile, his shoulders shake with laughter. You lean into him, enjoying the warmth of him, the feeling of his arms around you, heart beating in his chest.

Things are going to get better. They already were, even without this impromptu visit from his mother and being able to reconcile with her—and Jeno. It’s like you said—he’s making friends at work, getting along well with Kun, Lina, and Jay, even Maria loved him to bits when she met him for the first time last week. You’re making friends, too, going to games with Jisung and then going out to eat afterward with him and Chenle. It's not like you were some kind of ghost before this—you enjoyed yourself, you were content, you didn’t have much yearning for anything else, but now that you do, you’re happier. You feel more grounded. Present. There’s more to hope for, to look forward to. You know Jaemin feels the same way. No longer just going through the motions but actually planning for the future.

You’ve even had a few late-night conversations about whether he wants to go back to school. He’s surmised that med school simply isn’t for him but—that’s not the only healthcare position that exists. As it happens, Metropolis University’s nursing program is one of the best in the country and there are scholarships he can apply to to help with tuition. As for you, you still quite enjoy your work at Sleepless Bites but there are still a lot of things you want to try and that Jaemin happily encourages you to do so.

Like you said. There is so much more to hope for and look forward to now.

It is this, you think, that your parents wanted for you.

Exactly this.

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